Hestia was, in no way, the type of girl who went out drinking on a regular basis. Slightly bored, she’d dragged Amelia out to the club for a while. But there was only so much patience Hestia had for the flashing lights and the overpriced neon colored drinks. No, the pub was much more her style, though it had less of the fun and exciting atmosphere. When had she gotten so boring?
She finished her beer, considering making the short walk home when the pounding of the table had caught her off guard. She was hardly one who meddled in other peoples affairs, but she’d seen what Lestrange wrote. She’d considered offering her condolences, but that hardly seemed like the thing to do, his girlfriend wasn’t dead just vanished.
And she knew that most people feared him, but it was hard to fear a man you’d seen at school, lounging about the common room. And it was with that thought that she’d slide off her bar stool, and took a seat at his table amongst the empty glasses.
“Hardly seems fair that you take your frustrations out on a poor old bar table, and a scared bartender.”