Who: Pansy Parkinson and Jack Sloper When: Friday evening Where: The Leaky Cauldron What: Pansy is conducting a brief, informal survey. Rated/Status: TBD, incomplete.
It had been a particularly obnoxious week. The first chance Pansy got for an easy week- no high profile new releases, no snobby bint authors. Just a chance to get caught up on paperwork and actually take her lunch breaks and maybe, if fate smiled on her, she'd have a few moments to file her nails. But, it wasn't to be. The Prophet had decided to publish her name alongside those of the suspected supporters, and the week had been a shitstorm. She hadn't received too many Owls or Howlers- just a few hysterical notes from her mother. The problem was the authors who no longer wanted their accounts handled by her. She supposed she ought to be grateful L'Amour hadn't pulled out- it seemed like everyone else was.
So she'd spent most of the week romancing skittish authors back, and she'd been mostly successful. A few had refused to budge, even threatening to go to another publishing house, not wanting any part of their books associated with the daughter of a Death Eater supporter. Apparently people were still touchy about those things.
And while on most Fridays she'd simply go home and drink down the better part of a bottle of Merlot, tonight she had work to do. Namely, making sure that there was at least one person- or, rather, group of people- that society would hate more than those tainted by the name Death Eater. As soon as she got off work, she headed out to the Leaky Cauldron, feeling just the teensiest bit insecure, which was ridiculous. She shoved the feeling off, scanning the bar. She'd been asking questions all week, everywhere. In line at the bank, or the ridiculously long wait for the ladies' loo. Just casually gauging public opinion, which, generally, seemed to match hers.
A bar seemed like the next best place. People were always brutally honest when they'd had a few drinks, and she wanted honesty, not people trying to seem caring and sympathetic. She didn't have time for that. She spotted a man sitting alone at the bar, and, since he was cute, Pansy zeroed in on him. She sidled up next to him and perched on the adjacent stool, giving him a cursory glance while she ordered a dry martini. She didn't recognize him, which was perfect. Hopefully he wouldn't recognize her. She tilted her head and finally turned to him, offering a flirty little smile. "I'm Pansy. What's your name?"