Who: Astoria and Scorpius When: late Saturday night Where: Scorpius' bungalow What: Astoria has put her detective-hat on for the evening. Rating/Status: TBD/Incomplete
Astoria had been staring, befuddled, at the small collection of vials off and on for about three days now. She wasn't sure why Scorpius had left them for her — surely he had a motive beyond being generous and friendly. The idea that he would do something solely for her benefit was ludicrous. He had to want something. People always did.
Still, she wasn't going to find out anything new by re-reading his note for the thousandth time, nor by studying the gifts themselves. With that in mind, Astoria had decided to go directly to the source. Scorpius Malfoy, Bungalow Number One.
It didn't take her long to cross the small village — town? encampment? prison? — nor to gather up her courage and knock on his door. Astoria was a lot of things, but she was rarely afraid to speak her mind.
Rap-rap-rap.
Astoria had picked up a bottle of liquor on her way — she hadn't bothered to look at the label, honestly — and her fingers tightened around the neck as she waited. It was a reflex, nothing more. And it certainly had nothing to do with the fact that, as she waited on his porch-of-sorts, she was beginning to rethink her hastily patched together plan.