This was arguably the most important day of Hunter's reporting career to date. Not only was he doing an interview for
Quidditch Illustrated (rather than working freelance as he generally did), but he was interviewing none other than
@Harlan Bellamy . As in THE Harlan Bellamy, Captain of the Gravesend Griffins and member of the actual National team. Quill in pocket, rats left safely at home and wearing his best jeans Hunter had apparated to Winchester, found the wizarding pub in the shadow of the cathedral and was there early enough that he'd seated himself at the bar and ordered half a pint while he waited.
It was then that a best-forgotten memory chose the worst possible time to surface. When he'd first walked into the pub he had thought it felt familiar, but couldn't think why. Sitting at the bar and looking around, the feeling was even stronger and slowly, completely unwanted he recalled a New year's Eve a few years earlier. Along with a group of friends Hunter had embarked on a bar crawl, first apparating from one town to another and then, when they were clearly no longer safe to be in charge of their wands, taking the floo network.
He looked at the fireplace uneasily, remembering stepping out of it and ordering his seventh pint of the evening. The former Gryffindor would hae been delighted if the memory had stopped there but no, with increasingly lurid detail he recalled toasting the assembled strangers, wishing them all very good health before climbing onto one of the tables and regaling them with all five verses of "Merlin the Happy Pig." Complete with improvised dance moves, and alternative lyrics that would even now have caused his mother to wash his mouth out with soap if she'd heard.
Still, it was probably fine. The chances of a famous Quidditch Pro having been in the pub that night were minimal, and even if he had been, he would hardly recognise Hunter. There were plenty of short guys who looked like him. It'd be fine. Fine.
