[Three Broomsticks] Don't Be So Hard On Yourself [OPEN]

Late-afternoon light filtered in from the wood-pane windows of The Three Broomsticks, casting cross-shaped shadows across the floors and walls of the bustling tavern. There were probably thirty or more patrons there, scattered across the sectioned-out bar and restaurant. There were seats at the right end of the bar; two in a cluster together, with a table in the middle. In one of these seats sat Elias Deyer, nursing a tankard of Butterbeer, and reading an issue of Quidditch Monthly. The seventh year was one of many students there that evening, mixed among the off-duty professors, residents, and visitors to Hogsmeade. He'd come to get away from the castle, which as of late wasn't as inviting to him as it once had been. He'd been so turned off by the prospect of staying at school for another year, that he was thinking of dropping out from the school entirely. It just wasn't the same without his friends, who'd drifted away to other things, and with what had transpired, he just couldn't see himself there anymore.

He slowly turned the pages of the glossy magazine, which was resting in the palm of his left hand. He thoroughly enjoyed keeping up with the news of one of his most prominent interests at present; Quidditch. The Slytherin had always been intrigued by Quidditch, and thought it was the greatest thing in the Wizarding World. It didn't hurt of course, that the magazine featured big centerfold pictures of the athletes for him to admire in more ways than one. Elias was very seriously considering trying out for a national team, trying to make a name for himself that way. He thought that at the very least, he'd find someone to challenge him mentally and physically, and rebuild a friend group around him.

The teen shifted himself in the chair, putting down his tankard, and gripped the other side of the magazine loosely. He scanned through an interview with a Russian team, the Ryazan Re'ems. These guys were some of his favorites in the world, and they did pretty well in the world cups in general. The beaters were his favorite, because they were hilarious in interviews, and did quirky things on the field. Elias got lost in his thoughts, and just ignored the world for a while. The internal struggle he had with himself was forgotten, if just only for a moment.

The day had dawned bright and sunny; but with thunderhead formations on the Highland horizon. The sun would grace the residents of Hogwarts with its late-summer warmth for a limited time only, it seemed. And with this weekend being a Hogsmeade weekend, many students had left in a mass exodus earlier than usual with the hope of avoiding the rain that was sure to come later on.

The friends that Jacqueline was planning to go with had needed to take care of a few things before heading down to the village, and despite the Sixth Year’s offer to wait with them they had insistently waved her on ahead. So they’d parted ways, with an agreement to meet in the main square in about an hour’s time (“But it shouldn’t be more than two, honest!”).
And so the Scottish witch had meandered down the familiar cobblestone streets, drifting in and out of the shops before sitting for a while on one of the benches outside. She was dressed comfortably in a tea-length floral skirt and cozy, light sweater that protected against the chill coming off the moor.
Predictably, though, and sooner than she’d anticipated, an ominous cloud rolled in and unleashed its contents. Casting a quick ‘Impervius’ to shield herself from the worst of it, the Prefect hurried down the path and ducked into the first available refuge. The temperature outside had dropped quickly with the oncoming rain, and the comparative warmth of the Three Broomsticks brought a light flush to her cheeks.

The bar was rather crowded for Jacqueline’s liking, but the tables were no better: not a single one stood empty. And, oddly enough despite the sheer number of students present, she recognized no one in the pub – except for a lone Slytherin with a round table to himself at the far end of the room. In truth, they hadn’t interacted much over the past few years but – given that Jacqueline had spent the majority of the past five years and counting in the company of Slytherins – she did see him around a fair amount.

He seemed quite absorbed in whatever it was that he was reading, and she felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of disturbing him. But she didn’t much fancy standing in the doorway, nor was she keen on going back out in the dreich; and so, after using her wand to dry whatever her waterproofing charm had missed, she approached the older Slytherin.

“Hullo, Elias,” she greeted, offering him a close-lipped but friendly smile. “Dinna mean to intrude – can I join ye, d’ye mind? I willna pester ye, promise.” Her Scottish accent was light and lilting, and her last comment jesting. She was always happy for people to join her while she was reading, but was frustrating when she needed to focus and all the invitee could seem to do is blether away.