Hung over, hair sticking up in all sorts of unacceptable direction, pillow marks still relatively visible on his face, Reid managed to drag himself out of bed and into respectable(ish) clothes, stopping by the bathroom just long enough to brush his teeth and splash some water on his face, attempting to rub away the red from his eyes (nevermind the
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"You know I always look fantastic," she assured him, wrapping her favorite mint scarf around her neck. The coffee had helped but there was still a dull throb in her head that only pancakes could fix. "And you look just adorable, as usual."
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"Now, tell me. Any good gossip? This week has been rather dull."
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"So I was talking to Carl, you know, the grumpy nightshift bartender at the Cauldron yesterday. Apparently one of the Weasley boys brought a Squib out to the Alley the other day, like, in the wee hours of the morning. Big, blonde, muscly type, too," he added, wiggling an eyebrow suggestively.
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"Which Weasley? Ron? He's developed such a drinking problem," she mused, "I wouldn't be surprised if he's seeking a bartender's company."
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Skylar brought a fork full of fluffy scrambled eggs to her mouth, savoring how light and warm they were. A gulp of mimosa washed them down.
"But where in the world did he find himself a squib?"
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"Carl said he's a regular, actually," he said, finally swallowing the giant lump of sausage and pancake he had stuffed himself with. "Hadn't even known he was a Squib until he overheard that conversation."
He shook his head, shaking out his napkin and wiping at the oh-so-attractive dribble of syrup sliding down his chin. Calm down, Chambers, it's not going anywhere.
"Can you imagine though? How horribly miserable, this poor Squib just...hanging out at the Cauldron? Must be some kind of masochist or something."
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"It's sad really, when you put it like that," she said, forehead furrowed. The poor guy - and spending his time with Weasley of all people on top of it.
"We'll have to go, keep an eye out for him. I want to know what this guy is up to."
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...Possibly hands, too. A boy could dream.
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"I take it you won't mind getting some more information on this one?" she asked, an eyebrow pitched.
"I want to figure out what Looney Lovegood has been doing with Malfoy."
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"Maybe more. Either way, it's disgusting and I want to write all about it."
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"That is the last thing the next generation of magic needs," she sighed, shaking her head.
"Speaking of, isn't Davies kid almost old enough for Hogwarts?"
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"Not quite yet...she'd be what, seven, now, right? Eight, maybe?"
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