Kate comes downstairs and approaches the Bar, looking tired and a little worn. Her hair is pleated, her typical cowboy hat left upstairs
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She's staring into her glass as the recitation begins, and her expression seems to break; like ice too-warm in spring, splintering to reveal a smile underneath. She doesn't look up just yet, letting him reach the end of the stanza first.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son."
She looks at him with a mix of amusement and pride, shaking her head.
"Victorious, triumphant, an' completely nonsensical," she chuckles. "Appropriate indeed."
She knocks back what's left in her glass, and smiles tightly. She won't move into an embrace - not tonight - but she certainly won't refuse one if he's feeling brave.
"Hello, Master Albus. I'm pleased t'see you, too. You've been brushin' up on your poetry."
"So would I. I saw King John in New Orleans my first semester of university. It's the only play I've ever been to. Granted, I've always had a healthy imagination, but it was an experience unto itself."
"There is so hot a summer in my bosom, That all my bowels crumble up to dust: I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen Upon a parchment, and against this fire Do I shrink up.
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe ..."
What's that? That would be the sound of a boy delivering on his promise of reciting a poem he'd memorized for her.
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She's staring into her glass as the recitation begins, and her expression seems to break; like ice too-warm in spring, splintering to reveal a smile underneath. She doesn't look up just yet, letting him reach the end of the stanza first.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son."
She looks at him with a mix of amusement and pride, shaking her head.
"Carol. What a delightful choice."
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Albus grins.
"I thought so," he says. "It's - um. Sort of got a victorious, triumphant tone to it. So I figured it was fitting.
"Hello, Miss Barlow. I'm really glad to see you."
And he kind of wants to hug her.
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She knocks back what's left in her glass, and smiles tightly. She won't move into an embrace - not tonight - but she certainly won't refuse one if he's feeling brave.
"Hello, Master Albus. I'm pleased t'see you, too. You've been brushin' up on your poetry."
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Unfortunately, he's not so much with the brave - not just yet.
But he is really, really glad to see that she's all right.
"I told you I would," he says. "I - um. I even asked my grandmum here for a little help picking the right poem."
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It warms Kate's heart, somewhere deep down where she hasn't gotten around to numbing it yet.
"Your grandma is a fan of Carol, then?"
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"Actually, she knows a lot about ... a lot of Muggle literature."
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She pours another glass of bourbon, and offers Albus a drink.
"So, now you're tasked with tellin' me - what've y'read, an' what was your favorite?"
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He thinks Lily is amazing.
"Um. Well, I've been reading Keats' Endymion, and - oh! Blimey, I nearly forgot.
"I actually got to see a Shakespeare play. It was absolutely brilliant. The coolest thing."
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Well, that puts a little spark back in her eyes, that's for sure.
"Which one? When?"
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It was mad.
He got to meet one of his great-granddads.
"It was 'A Midsummer Night's Dream'. The whole thing was so - I dunno. I can't even explain it."
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"Euphoric?" she offers. "Other-worldly? Stunning? Passionate?"
She shakes her head.
"Shakespeare had a way with words that can only be truly appreciated in action."
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"Yes. Exactly that," he says happily.
"Reading it was brilliant, but it was nothing like seeing it on stage. I'd see another one without hesitation if I could."
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"So would I. I saw King John in New Orleans my first semester of university. It's the only play I've ever been to. Granted, I've always had a healthy imagination, but it was an experience unto itself."
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And pauses.
"There is so hot a summer in my bosom,
That all my bowels crumble up to dust:
I am a scribbled form, drawn with a pen
Upon a parchment, and against this fire
Do I shrink up.
"Terribly sad."
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