*And this, just on the heels of the most irritating cancellation of the day--Chastity Yaxley, flaky little social butterfly she is, and her ditzy little owl carrying a perfumey note full of implied girlish giggle--it is a bit of divine providence, this owl. Esmerelda would absolutely love to have the warm, fuzzy little ball of comfort that is Peter Pettigrew.*
Peter,
This afternoon is surprisingly clear. Come by at your leisure.
*He had expected more time to prepare, to steel himself. While taking a hurried shower, he runs over scenarios, charming things he could say, but by the time he arrives on the doorstep of the Rosier manor he has forgotten all of them. Fortunately, the words were unneeded, and he finds himself laying on his side in a fuzzy, happy daze, curling a lock of dark hair around his finger. For no real reason at all, he laughs softly.*
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Peter,
This afternoon is surprisingly clear. Come by at your leisure.
Esmerelda
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Don't tell me you suddenly find me humorous. I should hate to be humorous to you. Unless something has changed between us?
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*He doesn't find her funny. And he hopes nothing significant has changed, though he does feel more at ease, even when he knows he shouldn't.*
Just... enjoying myself, I suppose.
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