entranced, spellbound

Hestia turned around, fully facing the other with a nod. "He just might, but what is the point in different shapes and sizes for the same batch?" There was something serious there, mixed into her features and yet a smile that prevailed. There was something amusing about the idea of having to search the shelves for the labels and labels only. And something quite infuriatingly inefficient, too.

"Perhaps he gets bored?" Mafalda suggested, looking around the the bottles on the shelves. "Maybe it's a way to keep himself entertained. I suppose there's only so much excitement in a potions shop, isn't there?" She shook her head. "I can brew an alright potion, but I'd hardly call myself a potioneer. Probably wouldn't be here if I was totally confident making it myself."

the pub was packed to the brim and beck considered leaving already. but it was just enough noise to distract him from any loud thoughts. beck looked over the people in there, not one standing out to him for someone to pass time to talk. still, he secured a drink in his hand and leaned against one of the posts. he must have been standing too close to the table when he heard someone. beck looked both ways before glancing down to find a witch sitting there. "oh," he said, the word dropping out of his mouth in one single syllable. "what an invitation. it would be rude to say no to that," he said dryly. beck thought to refuse, but instead, he surprised himself by slowly sitting down. it was better to be off his bruised feet. "you can almost see everyone from here." it was a simple observation he said over the rim of his drink, his eyes scanning through the crowd of people. beck nodded towards one man in particular. "i'll bet they kick him out in five minutes. from the looks of it, he seems he can barely stand without being propped up."

His response was a little sarcastic, and for a moment Mafalda wondered if she'd been too short, before remembering that this was a dingy pub and she didn't owe anyone anything. He still sat though, so she couldn't have been too rude. "That's why I like it. People-watching in bar is a great time, makes me feel a lot better about my own life, that's for sure." She replied before giving a small laugh. "I hope so, he's been acting like that since I walked in."

Amycus laughed, it was not the first conversation he had engaged in about pyromania in a public location - the topic was a rather popular one at the moment with a society of Deatheaters trying to stand out in a crowd. It was the first time, however that he had found himself uncertain about whether either of them was being serious in their comments. The war had stolen an air of mystery from his interactions. "A pity then, it seems there is to be no private club. We will have to settle for a wizard owned venue as you say. The pyromania we will save for entertainment, and leave the ruins as a low-effort sort of art instillation instead."

"Well, I've heard that sort of thing is all the rage in art nowadays." Mafalda replied, like she knew anything about the fine art world.

open to all | outside J. Pippin's Potions

"I think he might, in different shapes and sizes, I mean." Mafalda replied. It made sense, she supposed. Different doses and all that. "As long as they're labelled it should all be fine, right?" She asked. "You keep it. I like to keep a stash of  invigoration draught for long days at work, but I think I've still got a few vials left."

"I haven't even thought about seeing it that way." Truly, if nothing else there was something of hers left behind for future generations to find later down the line. And she was very much in favor of that, especially with how crazy the world had become.

"It's more of a mark than I've left on Hogwarts, probably." Mafalda pointed out. It was more of a positive mark than she'd left, at the very least. "He has to be, right? It's not like ghosts can die again, there's nowhere else for him to go."

"There is no way you can out-drink me in twenty minutes!" Gilderoy protested even though she probably actually could. It wasn't his fault he was a bit of a lightweight. That was on his father, the man had no alcohol tolerance. "Well clearly they don't take after you. It's totally my influence."

"Oh! Challenge accepted! Come on then, lets do shots, we'll see how long you last." Mafalda teased. "Oh, of course. You don't influnce your own cats, but you influence mine? Next you'll be telling me it was my fault Sophie was sick on your shirt."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hover. I'm meeting some friends and it seems that they are a tad late. You sure you don't mind?" While she had been sorted into Ravenclaw, Mafalda had been in Slytherin in the same year so they had shared a couple of classes back at Hogwarts.

“What a coincidence, so is mine.” Mafalda said with a small chuckle. “I absolutely don’t mind. Unless you want to stay standing so you can keep an eye on the door?”

"makes sense, wouldn't do to have a poor view." He remarks, lounging back until the he's balancing the two remaining chair legs residing on the ground with his foot.

"And besides, it's been a long week, for me at least. Dinner and a pint is a nice treat after all that, don't you think?" She asked.

Gil stuck out his tongue as the napkin hit him on the cheek. "Twenty minutes isn't even that late. That's barely time for one drink." He shrugged expansively as he settled himself down in his chair. "My favorite girls decided they needed extra attention, so Sophie puked on my favorite shirt ten minutes before I was supposed to leave. They're so dramatic."

"Is that a challenge? Because I could drink a lot in twenty minutes, if I tried. More than you, I bet." She said, finishing off the remainder of her pint almost to prove a point. "Mhm, they take after you then, I see. Nothing like my pets, of course, Sid and Nancy are absolute angels."

The witch sat down, slipping into the seat opposite the other with a neutral expression that immediately shifted into something fonder at the memory of her time in the greenhouses. "I did. The professor allowed me to grow some of my earliest plants there. I think they're still growing." At the end of her time at Hogwarts she'd been forced to leave many of them in the greenhouse as they'd been either too big or too delicate to move.

"That's quite sweet, actually." Mafalda said with a smile. "Like you've left your mark on the place. I wonder if they use them to teach the students now." She chuckled. "It wouldn't be the first word I would use to decribe him, but eccentric certainly fits. It's not that I dislike history as a subject, it can be fascinating, but there's only so much discussion of goblin rebellions that I could take, I think."

“We didn’t realise how good we had it until it was gone.” Mafalda mused. She wasn’t lying, there were many things she missed about the Slytherin common room. The proximity to her bed, for one. How easy it had been to spend the night having fun with her friends before stumbling upstairs. Though that hadn’t been what Amycus was referring to, of course.

"See, despite what I said, I refuse to be one of those people who peaked in school. That is too depressing an idea." He spoke with a low snort, "which means we will have to do whatever we can to shape the world to be more to our tastes."

“Oh Merlin, peaking in school is about the most pathetic thing I could imagine.” Mafalda grimaced. Truth be told, it was probably one of Mafalda’s biggest fears. She would never let on about it though, especially to someone like Carrow. “It looks like we will.”

A familiar face in a sea of strangers. That had been her reason for making her way over, remembering the face of the other from the days back at Hogwarts. A Slytherin, though, if Mary was remembering correctly. Truth be told, apart from a certain person the witch had never seen any difference between the houses; only between friend and those not yet classified as such. Though she had to face the reality that some never might be.

"Of course not, please, sit down." The other woman seemed friendly, Mafalda thought, and she almost felt bad about how shortly she had addressed her.

"Are you trying to tell me I am sub-par company, Mafalda?" He picked up a napkin just so he could crumble it into a ball and toss it at her head. It's what she deserved, not looking up to greet him. Some best friend. "Because that is very offensive and I will probably have to take it personally."

“Fucker.” Mafalda replied, picking up the napkin as it landed on the table and tossing it right back. “You’re late, is what you are. I’ve been sitting here drinking alone for the last twenty minutes, of course I was looking for better company.” She teased. “Come on, then. Why the delay?”

Mafalda had claimed a spot near the back of the pub, where the noise was loud enough to blur together and no one expected you to be interesting on purpose. There was a pint in front of her, half gone already, and song playing in the background that she had been idly tapping along to.

Barty is lounging in the back of the noisy pub, accompanied by the steady, persistant sound the toe of his shoe is making on the floor. Pulled from his musings by Mafalda's voice, he slowly turns. His fingers remain curled around the smooth, dark wood of his wand that sits only half-tucked away. He studies her face, somthing about it looks vaguely familar, not anyone of his inner circle... maybe somone he'd see at work?

Mafalda recognised the man in front of her once he'd turned around. Crouch. They worked in the same Department at the Ministry, which she had always thought was odd. Surely with a father as high-ranking as his, he could have done better that the Department of Magical Transport. It's what Mafalda would have expected, at least.