The Gossip

Remus’ mind was on Gideon as he meandered, he knew the man had been brought back recently and had heard rumors he had been out looking for a cure. If anything it couldn’t hurt to find out if the other man had anything to offer. So lost in his thoughts was Remus that he almost failed to notice the shouting coming from up the road. The voice was familiar though Remus could not place his finger on who exactly it might belong to. Keeping his distance Remus saw the woman climbing the tree and muttering to herself and instantly recognized who she was. Bertha Jorkins. If there was one person Remus did not want to see right now it was Bertha Jorkins.

There was no way around her either. The cafe he had made his destination was just past the tree she was currently scrambling up and there was no way she would not see him. Just as he had decided to turn back around Bertha was calling out again, this time for help. Remus looked around briefly hoping to catch sight of some other fool who could come play the rescuer but he had no such luck. Crushing guilt pushed Remus towards the tree and he wished he had never left the flat that morning.

 ”Aw, Jorkins,” she cooed, slinging an arm around the girl’s shoulder companionably. “But you followed me, didn’t you? I’m sure I’m safe and sound in your care.” Bertha was probably exaggerating, and in any case, Emma wasn’t the little fool so many believed her to be. Self-preservation meant knowing the risks before taking them, and Emma’s steps were calculated more often than not. 

"It’s a fine day," she remarked; the illicit always put her in high spirits, when it wasn’t going to kill anyone. "Merlin, I’ve been shut up in the compound for ages.” The oppressive, stale air in there reeked of nerves and tension, enough to drive a highly-strung young witch like herself out of her skull; not enough to dispossess her of her obstinate lust for freedom.

She stretched her arms upwards and yawned, before straightening her dress once again and taking a step into the shop, not turning to see if Bertha was following her. 

It was almost emptied, which hardly surprised Emma; apart from the inhabitants of the Hogsmeade compound, there were plenty in the vicinity on the lookout for fresh, untainted food supplies. Gnomer’s Greens’ heyday was long gone, but she checked the little nooks people often passed over on food runs - under shelves, stores in the back rooms, disrupted window displays.

Bertha wondered what Emma was getting up to inside the store, and decided to leave her cat to guard. "Stay." She said sternly, before giving a giggle and scratching the feline under her collar. Her cat purred in response, rubbing her nimble neck against Bertha's eager hands. Bertha touched the side of the door before entering, scanning the store for Emma. Her ears twitched to rummaging behind the counter and Bertha immediately slipped her hand to her pocket; where she kept her wand. She may gullible and easy to lure into a trap, however Bertha's frequent supply runs has made her cautious and observant. Good, it seems safe. She said to herself, and stepped inside the store.

They’d said not to go for independent supply runs, but they didn’t know Emma - she was shut up in the compound and bored, bored, bored out of her mind. Besides, supply runs didn’t call for any logistical preparation or risk calculation; you just had to be quick enough, strong enough, and having a wand on you wouldn’t hurt.

She still couldn’t figure out how anyone could’ve broken into the storage facility, nabbed half of its contents (which happened to be a fair bit, thank you very much, given Emma’s recent efforts), and escaped without a scratch. Catching the perpetrator wasn’t her job, but it would be an added bonus.

The guards at the gate waved and beckoned, and on any other occasion Emma would have stopped to giggle and act the vapid, naive witch, but she’d already fucked one of them, and the other was a little young for her.

Maybe in a few years. He had nice eyes.

“Nice dress,” she heard, and gave them the old wink-and-vanish over her shoulder before Apparating to one of her favourite haunts, the grocery store near the Vanity townhouse. On her past excursions to the area it had proved too dangerous to take anything beyond a few loaves of bread and a carton of milk, anything she could grab off the shelf in a few seconds. But she’d come prepared, slinging a large Expandable backpack off her shoulder as she landed just outside the store. The Infected should have settled and spread out in the area - and if they hadn’t, she could get out as quickly as she’d got in, easy. Emma never did anything she thought she couldn’t escape from unscatched. 

She smoothed the dress down over her front and peered at her reflection in the display window. It wasn’t the most practical of clothing for a supply run, but in Emma’s mental rationalising: a) one never knew who one would run into these days, and b) this could be the dress she was bitten in, and if she was going to have to wear one thing forever, it would have to be something that would flatter her sallow, undead skin.

Just one quick peak, she had done it all before. Nothing was foreign to Bertha, about following someone suspicious or deviant. Bertha stared at the small plug of a raisin and exerted the strength required to see it glaze in the sky before it plopped straight to the ground. Bertha pinched off pieces of grass, and gathered her poison- pen, skipping over to the guards. "Press pass?" She smiled, her notepad floating beside her ready to write. The younger one gritted his teeth. "Don't even bother coming back." The older one chuckled, and was ready to push Bertha out of the compound. "Thanks . . ." Bertha rolled her eyes and scooped up her black kitten.