Who: Angelina Johnson and Willy Locke. What: Meeting at a pub. :) Where: Merlinâs Staff, Hogsmeade. When: Tonight! Warnings: This log doesnât contain kissing.
The Merlinâs Staff was kind of a shithole, but it was a good pub that had fair prices and didnât water down itâs drinks. It was off the beaten path of the line of shops that Hogwarts students typically frequently, nestled on a street away and thus a watering hole that appealed more to locals.
Seated on a stool at the bar, and slouched down, resting on his elbows, was Willy Locke. One had was curled around a coke-n-firewhisky and the other was thumbing through the journal app on his phone to which he was still dealing with the stupid Dearborns among another irritating people. âBloody idiots,â he muttered, and then picked the glass up to take a sip.
âWhoâs that?â asked one of the aforementioned irritating people from Willyâs shoulder. Angelina managed to sound calm. She even managed to look calm. But after everything — from her dead colleague to Umbridgeâs parting words to what Willy had had the nerve to say to Alicia — she was feeling anything but calm.
âNot me, right?â She gave him a sharp-edged smile and leaned against the stool off to his right.
Decently into his cups, the sudden conversation from behind him startled Willy, his movement was more of a jerked reaction turning his head and rocking the stool — nearly tipping over completely. âSometimes you, yeah,â he replied, eyes narrowing at who it was. âGuess not right now since you came out and all.â
âGuess not,â Angelina echoed.
Seeing Willyâs face only made her feel more frustrated. Maybe she was a Gryffindor and he was a Slytherin and that was supposed to mean a lifelong rivalry, but sharing the same exact spaces for seven years shouldâve counted for something. They werenât supposed to want each otherâs parents thrown in Azkaban, anyway. They werenât in Harryâs year. She opened and closed her hand once, twice, and then, pushing away from her stool, threw her fist right at his nose.
âYeah, so if you—â
Willy didnât possess any sort of exceptional reaction time, especially not seated on a wobbly stool with alcohol in his bloodstream. Heck, he barely even noticed Angelinaâs hesitation beforehand. The womanâs fist connected straight on target with a wet crunch, and then the next thing Willy know he was lying on the floor in a heap. The force of the altercation, or perhaps an attempted dodge that came too late — he wasnât sure which — had toppled him off the stool and left him a little dazed.
Monday was a relatively slow night at the Merlinâs Staff, and the scene didnât go unnoticed in the slightest.
âWe donât allow any oâ that here, missy—â
Punctuated by a group of old hags in giggles drinking from miniature cauldrons piping up: âYou show him whatâs for, dearie! Get him again!â
âThe fuck's that for, eh?â Willy responded, finally pushing himself up to his knees, and then unsteadily to his feet as he tested his nose by pressing it gingerly with a hand. Tender. Swelling. A trickle of blood was coming from a nostril. âThe fuck, Johnson.â
âThat was for what you said to Alicia, Cocke,â she said, spitting the bastardization of his last name in his face as she crowded in close. Her fist was on fire, but she refused to shake it out in front of him. She shoved at his shoulder, hard, with her other hand. âYou keep her dadâs name out of your worthless, snatching mouth or Iâll break your entire face.â
The throbbing was spreading outwards from his nose now, and Willy know that if it wasnât broken it was close to it. Johnson packed quite a punch. His eyes squinted, and he leaned in closer too to show that he wasnât intimidated in the slightest even if it wasnât true. There was a split second where he contemplated denying that he was a snatcher, but that ship had sailed due to Umbridge and now itâd be all the more difficult for him to get his hands on any of the muggles. âOh fuck you, I ainât done shit to her da.â
He was then spun around by a bouncer that was at least double his weight and towered over him. The man pointed to the door.
Something smug started to settle across Angelinaâs features, but the bouncer turned to her next and pointed her to the door, too. She breathed an impatient breath through her nose and pushed past Willy and the bouncer, making sure to ram her shoulder into Willyâs as she passed. âYouâre scum,â she hissed at him and then flounced out of the pub.
Not willing to let Johnson get the last word, Willy started after her to discover his legs didnât work. Oh. No, the bouncer just had hold of him until the other woman was clear and gone, not willing to let there be another scuffle just outside.