Off With Their Heads
Henry had shredded or set fire to every copy of the Prophet sitting on Camilla’s stoop. He’d been released from custody just shy of the whole hotel burning down, with a reminder from O’Malley, the auror whose nose he’d broken, that this wouldn’t be the last of it. Of course it wouldn’t- he’d assaulted two DMLE officers and then been locked in a room alone for almost twenty-four hours. Well he was free now and he’d already sent an owl to Dirk’s, asking if the man was alright, but now he had other business to attend do.
He had a fresh stack of Prophets in hand- Charmed off a corner newsstand, he wasn’t about to pay money for this filth- as he strode into the law office of one Dimitry Nott, whose fiancee he’d already had the pleasure of meeting.
“Excuse me sir, do you have an appointment-”
“No, but you’re going to let me pass anyway,” he said, smiling at the gatekeeper and summoning a Charm so blinding that the man fell back into his desk chair and blinked up at Henry as if he’d just stared into the sun for too long. That took care of that.
He headed into the marked office, dropping the stack of Prophets onto the desk and throwing himself sideways into the first available chair.
“No, I don’t have an appointment,” he said, signing off-hand at the same time. His signing was rusty but hopefully not incomprehensible. “But I can pay. What’ll it take to sue the Prophet for everything they’re worth and then a bit more?”
@nott-amused
