Post by Prof. Jonathan Starsmore on Aug 14, 2007 15:39:30 GMT
Jonathan rubbed the greasy, steamed up window with the sleeve of his robes, pressing his nose again glass to squint out into the grey rain. The region around Hogwarts and Hogsmede had been unnaturally cold and wet for the last couple of days, and with no few people crisscrossing the streets under dripping umbrellas, the gloominess was beginning to get into everyone’s hearts. Jonathan, of course, was only susceptible to one kind of bad news – being stood up.
It was around eight o’clock in the evening, long before any of the shops and pubs were due to close, and so he had had an impossible time finding anywhere that was empty enough to have a polite conversation in. Normally the noiser, smellier and more violent his surroundings, the more fun Jonathan had, but with one Helia Ollivander coming to pay him a business visit he had elected a much more civil environment: the small, over-expensive Black Lion pub that sat squashed between the post office and stationary shop. With such cheeky prices it was only fit for prissy old couples and women on a night out who didn’t want to be bothered, but as Jonathan sat squashed into a booth looking rather dodgy just sitting there on his own, it was the best he could do.
But where was Helia?
She was thirty minutes late and making Jonathan increasingly paranoid. Having already downed his own pint – and stolen a small sip of the one he’d bought for Helia – Jonathan was beginning to think about making his way home. On the table in front of him sat an inconspicuous cigar box, but inside it – magically squashed into what was in fact enough space for a motorbike and all it's spare parts - was the printing press. It’d been hell trying to prise it off the sixth years in the Ravenclaw common room, but it wasn’t them Jonathan wanted to meet for a drink.
It was around eight o’clock in the evening, long before any of the shops and pubs were due to close, and so he had had an impossible time finding anywhere that was empty enough to have a polite conversation in. Normally the noiser, smellier and more violent his surroundings, the more fun Jonathan had, but with one Helia Ollivander coming to pay him a business visit he had elected a much more civil environment: the small, over-expensive Black Lion pub that sat squashed between the post office and stationary shop. With such cheeky prices it was only fit for prissy old couples and women on a night out who didn’t want to be bothered, but as Jonathan sat squashed into a booth looking rather dodgy just sitting there on his own, it was the best he could do.
But where was Helia?
She was thirty minutes late and making Jonathan increasingly paranoid. Having already downed his own pint – and stolen a small sip of the one he’d bought for Helia – Jonathan was beginning to think about making his way home. On the table in front of him sat an inconspicuous cigar box, but inside it – magically squashed into what was in fact enough space for a motorbike and all it's spare parts - was the printing press. It’d been hell trying to prise it off the sixth years in the Ravenclaw common room, but it wasn’t them Jonathan wanted to meet for a drink.
