WHO: Peony Parkinson and Betty Braithwaite (the alliterative duo…) WHAT: The Gala gets its latest invitee. WHEN: Wednesday WHERE: The Daily Propaganda Prophet offices WARNINGS: None!
“Thank you again for seeing me.” Peony slid into the chair opposite Betty, placing a coffee with the Starbeaks logo in front of the other woman. “I called ahead to ask how you take yours. I hope that’s not too presumptuous?”
It was certainly something to have not only a cooperative interviewee, but one that called by after the event with coffee. Betty’s smile was warm, welcoming even, a change from her usual caution. “You shouldn't have,” she told Peony, accepting the coffee with a grateful nod.
A quick sip, before she placed the cup back into the desk between them. The notebook was gone, no quills around - all very informal. “How can I help you?” Betty asked.
“Please. While I can’t imagine the pressure that you’re under, I too know what it’s like to work to a deadline.” Peony smiled in kind. “Every New Year, there’s at least one who gets it into their head to go flying au naturel above a Muggle township…” Death Eaters and their shenanigans were naturally making more work for her and the rest of the department, but she was taking that sentiment with her to her (hopefully a long while off yet) grave.
“Well, every year we have a Gala, and this year, we’d be quite honoured by your presence.” She reached into her purse, producing an elegant silver scroll, sealed with the Parkinson house crest. “I’ll understand if it’s too short of notice. But if it isn’t—well, I took the liberty of visiting Twilfit & Tattings and asking them to set aside some robes that may be to your liking. It’s dreadful to be scrambling around at the last moment for something to wear.”
Peony of course had a wardrobe that catered to all sorts of occasions, but she was aware enough to know that not everyone had a rack of 1,000 Galleon robes tucked away. Why would you, if the occasion seldom called for it? That would be wasteful.
Whatever Betty had been expecting, and she hadn't quite know what to expect, it certainly hadn't been such an invitation. Genuine surprise gave way to gratitude, and she took the offered invitation from Peony and gazed it quickly before even registering what else Peony had been saying.
“Oh - robes, yes, of course!” They were required for such an occasion. “You're far too kind!” Betty smiled, that moment of fluster turning into excitement. “Goodness, you've even - Twilfit and Tattings - how thoughtful!”
“Oh really, it’s no trouble at all. Truth be told, it got me out of my mother’s way for an hour or so,” she added with a stage whisper and a wink. This was no disloyalty; Calliope Parkinson’s reputation had a habit of not so much preceding her as arriving in an entirely different continent before its owner caught up. “And Madam Malfoy and Thea are likewise guests, so you’ll be in good company.”
“Just please let me know if you plan on bringing a date.” Peony winced conspiratorially. Regardless of blood status, difficult mothers appeared an universal bonding point. “As per Mother’s purview, the places are set, but if you can get word to me, I’m sure that I can figure something out.”
Betty laughed softly. “I'll be sure to let you know,” she agreed, although she felt the situation was fairly unlikely. “Thank you, Peony, this is too kind of you. If there's any way I can help at all, or anything in the future, you'll be sure to let me know?”
“Oh, of course! But I really shouldn’t take up any more of your professional time.” Peony eased back her chair and stood. “Have a pleasant rest of the week, and see you on Friday, perhaps?”