p e t r i c h o r

Pansy raised an eyebrow at Pat’s turn of phrase over being called a gentleman. “Not exactly a man? Then what are you?” she asked. There was a curiosity in there that came with her gossiping tendencies, but no delicacy. Her focus on them, whom she still perceived as a ‘him’, had her wondering if this was a face she had seen at Hogwarts. Not one from her year, she knew.

"What a question! I'm lots of things, I suppose. A person. A wix!" Pat didn't discern a malicious intent    just curiosity. They found it a good sign when others bothered to further their understanding of anything. "Frankly, gender standards and I are... at odds." They read an uncertainty in the other's face, and Pat thought for a moment they had caused her discomfort - but grinned once she introduced herself. 

“Right. Remind me to invest in some when it isn’t pouring.”

"It's not - wha?? The sun was out a minute ago! Stupid English weather..."

“Not particularly.” The only temptation the band held for Pansy was the whimsical idea that she could get herself backstage if she wanted, if only so that she could boast about it later. That would be a story for the gossip columns.

“Mm, makes two of us!” they chimed, always a fan of things priced as free. Pat's face reddened as the stranger wiped bubbles from their upper lip. It was a soft sort of invasion, one that made them smile. "Right, my bad. I'm Pat! Hm... gentle, maybe, but not exactly a man," they giggled, hoping the hint wasn't too subtle. Pat thought the witch looked familiar, though they couldn't place why or where they might have met. In any event, they rather preferred experiencing people as they were, untainted by preconceptions. "And what do they call you?"

The hour was late for the regular crowd pouring out of the concert, but for Pansy the night was just beginning. She hadn’t attended the concert. It wasn’t for a lack of money, she simply hadn’t been interested putting up with the sweaty crowds or constant screaming just to see a mediocre band play. No matter how attractive the bassist was.

Pat’s head cocked with an innocuous smile. “Well, my head does hurt a bit, but I’d classify this more as a celebratory drink,” they answered, “not a fan?” Pat was nowhere near the level of fan they’d been competing with to get to the front, but they found that most popular bands had such renown for good reason. They plunked a few silver coins on the table when their butterbeer arrived and took a gulp. The sweet drink’s warmth spread through their body, fighting away the invasive chill.

“Oh, don’t be alarmed! I was sweeping out the back room, quite dusty. Now I think I ought’ve worn some kind of eye protection! Anyway - can I help you find something?”

“That’s a good one too.” he says laughing, very much surprised at the boys outburst and excitement. “Are you always this excited about things?” 

“Uhh- if by things you mean a jewel like your book, yeah!” Pat laughs, “I suppose I am a bit more enthusiastic than most. But I can’t help if it’s exciting!”

“HOUSE ELVES, GOBLINS AND WIXEN ARE EQUAL! TREAT THEM THAT WAY!” Hermione’s magically amplified roared down Diagon Alley. Both hands had a tight grip on the sign that read S.P.E.W in large, gold letters and just below it, flashing, moving pictures of house elves being abused by their masters. She stood outside Gringotts, brow furrowed as she protested. “Hey—” she said to the figure beside her, her voice at it’s normal pitch. “—have you a moment to talk about the Society for the Protection of Elfish Welfare??”

Pat jumped as they approached Gringotts. Their shift was up, and that meant their vault held enough coin to to fund a ticket to the upcoming Weird Sisters concert. Pat stopped short of entering the bank, though, as the rather loud protester approached them. “Sorry? Oh-- er, why not!” Another few minutes wouldn’t lose them months of saving their gold, after all. They sat upon the white marble steps, legs crossing as though preparing to hear an amusing story. “All ears, enlighten me!”

“Oh.” he says feeling like a bit of a git, but also really relieved that he wasn’t going to bother him. “This thing? It’s just a copy of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes- first edition. One of my favorites. You can find it in a few muggle shops in London. My mother bought me this one for Christmas.” 

Pat practically squealed, hands flying to their mouth. Venturing a closer look, Pat beamed at the familiar version. “I thought that’s what I saw! My grandad used to have the same one! He read me those stories all the time when I was a kid,” they said fondly. “The Hound of Baskervilles is still my favorite!”

“If you’re here to criticize me like everyone else in this bloody world, just leave me alone. Crazy how people always assume rumors are true.”’ 

“Hm? Oh, not at all! Actually, I was going to ask you where you bought that book, I thought it was out of print! But, ehm, if you’d prefer some privacy...”