|Percy I. Weasley (pompous_percy) wrote in strugglewithin,|
@ 2008-10-29 13:03:00
|Entry tags:||bill weasley, cho chang, july 1997, percy weasley|
RP: Running errands
Date: 29 July, 1997
Characters: Percy Weasley, Bill Weasley, Cho Chang
Location: Scribbulus Everchanging Inks, Owsteby Grocers
Summary: Percy is taking care of his errand list.
It was nearly seven o'clock when Percy finally left the Ministry. The parchments in his inbox had been sorted and copied in triplicate, he'd penned a letter to the Governing Board at Hogwarts per Minister Scrimgeour's request, and he'd determinately rid himself of the wedding invitation residing in the top drawer of his desk. He winced a little as he recalled the last, supposing that turning the invitation over and covering it with a massive stack of receipts wasn't exactly getting rid of it, but at least it wasn't staring him in the face every time he reached for a new quill.
He wasn't convinced that the family even wanted him there, anyway. There had been no note, simply a finely scripted invitation on good parchment and an attached RSVP card. Like the invitation, the RSVP was in his desk. He hadn't bothered to fill it out. It was a decision that betrayed his instinctive urge to complete the form and return it promptly, but he couldn't bring himself to respond, not even to decline the invitation. How could he show up to Bill's wedding when he hadn't even shown up after Fenrir's attack? How could he show up to a party as though the past couple years hadn't even occurred? It was illogical, he told himself. Fleur had probably sent it. He was doing everyone a favor by not attending. He wouldn't know what to say (other than the fact that it wouldn't involve the words "I'm sorry"), and the day would inevitably end with him storming off miserably, like it usually did.
Chin up, Percy, he told himself as he arrived in Diagon with a sharp pop. Now was not the time to mull over the past; it was time for him to take care of the list in his pocket. He had fruit and veg to buy, not to mention several other parishable necessities, and an inkpot that needed refilling. Finding something to eat was not a bad idea, either; by the time he got home, it would be too late to knock up a meal.
Scribbulus would be his first stop. Carrying around an inkpot was much less harrowing than lugging around a sackful of groceries. Besides, he knew himself well enough to anticipate a good half hour's worth of browsing; he did like to inspect the newest stationery designs and quill feathers. The tiny bell on the door chimed as he stepped through, and he inhaled deeply, comforted by the smell of ink and parchment. A display caught his eye almost immediately, and he took a long moment to admire the centerpiece. It was a silver inkwell set, with two crystal wells and built in scrollwork to hold a quill. It was far too expensive to even consider buying, but that didn't stop him from appreciating its finery.