ttd | grown-up catchy-catchies [fflur]

Filius wasn’t actually sure whether Professor Blevins had a real office or not, and had no earthly clue who he should have asked, and in any case he generally found her out by the Quidditch pitch, at least when she wanted to be found. (He had no interest in finding her when she didn’t.)

He had no idea if she was busy or just appearing to be – he had found that often, either could be the case – so he rapped smartly on the doorjamb and said, “Hullo! I’m off to the apothecary in Hogsmeade, do you need anything?” He hadn’t intended, at first, for this to be such a bit of business – he’d only meant to go and pick up some frogspawn, so that the seventh years could practise growth spells (and then cleaning spells) – but then Hagrid had needed fairy eggs for his fourth years, Damocles had needed extra rat spleens and hemlock, some of the merfolk had asked for dried nettles and salamander blood, and there was a discount on doxy venom.

Fflur was not one of the staff members Filius thought of as likely to need anything from the apothecary, but he hadn’t expected the merfolk to have a shopping list either, and thought it polite to ask.

Perhaps she didn’t need anything – although perhaps she just didn’t want to burden him with it, for which Filius was grateful, as he thought he would be carrying plenty of separate waterproof bags (he wasn’t going to chance mixing any of it) – but she was good for a walk to the village, which suited him.

He shook out the back section of the Daily Prophet as they headed down the grounds, cheerful with the good weather, and glanced down the advertisements. “Maybe I should pick up some Wiggentree bark,” he said, “You’re sure you don’t need anything? Would it help to look at what’s on sale?”

@Fflur Blevins

Fflur loved the small, cramped office she had made for herself at the pitch. She liked it there, better than the castle; it usually wasn’t worth the walk for students and other staff; she could just prop the door open, let the air in, let the cigarette smoke out. She was only a little caught off guard when she heard the knock. Fflur lifted her gaze from her book, eyebrows up when she didn’t see anyone in the doorway. It took her a second, but she leaned forward to peer over the Catapults pennant sitting on the edge of her desk and spotted Professor Flitwick. “Er, yeah,” had been her enthusiastic answer to his question. She stubbed out her cigarette, folded the corner of her page down, and they were on their way.

She didn’t need anything from Hogsmeade. She lived in Hogsmeade. But she didn’t have classes that afternoon and this would at least guarantee she wouldn’t need to talk to any students. Plus she liked to walk (to Hogsmeade, not much further). And she liked Flitwick.

“Maybe,” she said a little distractedly, not positive on what Wiggentree bark was used for. She had been wondering if she could light a cigarette for the walk, but it was more or less decided for her when Flitwick handed her the newspaper. “Sure, why not?” She held it with both hands, perusing the sales, still sure she didn’t need anything from the apothecary because when was the last time she had needed anything from the apothecary? She recognized some of the items, but they weren’t anything she needed. Or wanted.

She fussed with the paper for a few seconds as she turned the page, scanning the classifieds; they could be entertaining, sometimes, and they were now: Fflur laughed and held the paper a bit lower so Flitwick could see the ad she was pointing to. “Let’s avoid Madam Puddifoot’s, then.” There was a garish bright advertisement for Madam Puddifoot’s Matchmaking for the Romantically Challenged today at tea time.

“Jolly good,” said Filius, watching Fflur put her cigarette out like she was blotting a quill. He thought at first that she was going to write him a list, but she instead hopped up from her desk as though to accompany him; with a little bemusement he asked, “What is it you need, then?”

An outing, apparently, which he was happy to provide (perhaps more happy than he’d have been to provide anything from the apothecary; he was already concerned about the volume of what he had already promised to pick up.) They set off down the slope of the grass, being shone on by the sun and buffeted by a pleasant breeze, to which he nearly lost his Daily Prophet.

Fflur agreed with him with the nonchalance of somebody to whom it mattered not a whit whether he got Wiggentree bark or not; he rubbed one hand on his chin thoughtfully before he passed her the page, and watched as she flicked through to the next, and laughed.

“Hm?” he said, and craned his neck to see the advertisement she was pointing out – “Oh, dear, perhaps we should.” Although, he thought with wry amusement, he definitely qualified as romantically challenged. Probably. Perhaps, once he was past seventy, his bachelorhood had circled around from ‘sad’ back to ‘noble’. He wasn’t sure he cared to propose it aloud to Fflur, who was younger and infinitely more knowledgeable as to what passed as cool in the past half a century.

He’d said perhaps, though, so he added, drily, “I wonder what they’d make of me at that!” He’d probably have taught a good many of the other romantically challenged tea-takers there how to cast a levitation charm.

Perhaps we should. Fflur grinned, attempting to fold the paper away after reading the small print on the matchmaking ad: kneazle got your tongue? feel more out of place than a gnome at a garden party? your beastly luck with love ends here! the erumpment in the room is your match! Christ. It might have been something she would go to for a laugh--with Robin, of course--but even then, she thought it might have been a bit more enjoyable with a drink. So yes perhaps they should avoid it, indeed.

She raised her eyebrows as she laughed, wondering what the crowd there might think of Flitwick. She wasn’t sure what sort of clientele the event might attract, but more importantly, she had absolutely never, ever, ever tried to imagine what Flitwick’s dating life might have resembled (and she wanted to keep it that way). He lived in the castle, which was the only hint she had; she had lived in the castle when she had no one, at least. She hadn’t asked, didn’t think she wanted to.

So, failing that: “Great question,” she said, using her usual stall tactic when she didn’t know the answer to a student’s question. “One way to find out,” was another non-answer, but it was the best she had. “I’ll do your shopping if you want to go,” she offered with a cheeky grin, finally folding the paper back down to size and handing it back to him.

Filius adjusted his thick spectacles on his nose to better read the pithy advertisement text – “Galloping gargoyles,” he muttered. The erumpent in the room, indeed; he could think of nobody more likely to become that erumpent than himself, except for possibly Hagrid.

One way to find out – indeed there was, but Filius chuckled and said, “I think that niffler’s left the nest, so to speak.” He could think of no quicker way to break up a matchmaker’s tea than to simply show up as a quarter-goblin in his seventies; talk about putting the cat among the pixies. Fflur handed him his paper back and he tucked it under his arm with a smile.

“Well, hold your hippogriffs,” he said, “I didn’t say that.” He’d never once set foot in Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop (though he was sure it was a very reputable business) and had gone too long without setting foot there to justify breaking the streak. The steep roofs of Hogsmeade were looming up before them (they had probably been looming up even earlier, for Fflur) and he ran mentally through his shopping list again: dried nettles, rat spleens, bits and bobs, perhaps some Wiggentree bark after all.

“Lovely day for a walk,” he remarked; lovely day to spend time with a friend.


OUT

“Right,” she said. No niffler in the nest; she didn’t want to expend too much energy thinking about what that must mean.

He hadn’t said he had wanted to go--not explicitly--and Fflur grinned again. “You didn’t have to,” she teased, shrugging her shoulders as she shoved her hands into her pockets, the next best thing to fiddling for a cigarette. They were almost to Hogsmeade, at least--at least because she would want to smoke as long as they were outside, not because she was ready to get rid of Flitwick--and she shrugged again.

“Yeah.” It was a more emphatic reply than her yeah from before; she was actually paying attention now and actually agreed with him. It was a lovely day for a walk, and she was only the tiniest bit tempted to skive off and head home. But they passed the turn off to the cottage, heading into the village proper (and not to the tea shop), Fflur still smiling.

[[ end ]]