[hp] a very modern sort of arrangement
"I suppose that is what one must call a very modern sermon," said Pansy Parkinson Zabini, stepping up into the car of her long-time particular intimate, Mr Draco Malfoy, who was attempting to stretch out a crick in his neck. "For it was not very High--Draco, for heaven's sake, I am trying to gossip about the rector, will you please pay attention--"
"Pay attention yourself, Parks, for there is the reverend gentleman himself now--wave, darling, don't stare, there's a good chap--and with him is the mystery man we saw yesterday."
The objects of their attention were perhaps only twenty feet from them, but the two seated companions were far from in any danger of being overheard by the Reverend Ron Weasley and the gentleman in question. Those two men were in such deep conversation that Pansy's wave went quite unnoticed, and as her intention was to observe and not at all to be drawn into actual discourse, she satisfied herself by making careful note of the details of the second man's appearance before turning in her seat.
"The mystery man has a name," said Pansy with some glee, for she had been waiting the entire service to tease her friend with this bit of knowledge. "I discovered it yesterday at the stationer's. Such a quaint little place, and the proprietor a charming help, too. It is a relief to know that one won't have to send to town for the necessary periodicals."
"And what journals have you ordered from this fine establishment?" Draco's tone was light but it was obvious to Pansy from the way his driving gloves squeaked on the steering wheel that he was anxious for her small piece of detective work.
It was an alarmingly plump Mrs Brown, counting out envelopes and all the while jostling a baby on her shoulder, who had seen fit to furnish Pansy with the intriguingly tragic story of Mr Harry Potter, scarred in person and reportedly in mind by the Great War. Though decorated a hero and feted as such amongst his contemporaries, he had chosen to retire from public life to the village of Hellingly and resided quietly with his boyhood chum (the Reverend) and his sister (and Mrs Brown's eyebrows had risen high at this part of her relating, which Pansy imitated to Draco to his great amusement) in relative anonymity. It was rumoured (said Mrs Brown) that Mr Potter actually owned the Hall (at the very least) and had been conferred some sort of title by His Majesty, though no-one was able to confirm this on account of not wishing to offend the gentleman or his friend the Reverend; and Miss Weasley, who might be thought generous enough to satisfy the village curiosity, was such a difficult creature that not a straight answer could be had from her on the matter.
"Aha! I wonder what Miss Weasley might have done to earn the reprimand of 'difficulty'," said Draco. "Aside from co-habiting with an eligible bachelor with only a wall of psalm-books to maintain propriety."
“The largesse of Mrs Brown did not extend to further illumination on that subject,” said Pansy, “but I intend to befriend Miss Weasley instantly upon introduction.”
“And what plan have you concocted to this end? Surely you don’t mean to become one of those simpering ladies who bake peach cakes for church teas.”
Pansy blinked at Draco with a smile. “Dearest, don’t be ridiculous, I never cook. No, I shall join the Hellingly Art Society, of which Miss Weasley is a Committee member. You know I have such a passion for painting.”
“I recall a great deal of excitement at Blaise’s brief involvement in the world of fine art, yes.” Draco’s tone was dry, but Pansy was feeling generous and decided to let him have his little joke.
“Tch. If you were better behaved I might show you one or two watercolours I have done-don’t make that face, Draco, you’ll only get more wrinkles-but you really must be more accurate in your recollections of my husband, now we’re amongst the good people of Hellingly.”
Draco laughed. "Mr Zabini, the respectable banker, pillar of the community, victim of a callow robbery-turned-murder?"
“Precisely,” Pansy sniffed. “Extortion rackets and stolen antiquities are hardly going to endear me to the bridge club, are they?”
----