A Place by the Fire
date: 08 October 1998
time: 15:22
location: The Leaky Cauldron, London
characters: Pansy Parkinson, George Weasley
summary: A strange meeting over tea.
complete
The fireplace crackled with surprising heat, the tips of the flame licking high up the sides of the chimney walls, sooted with age. George sat in his usual wooden chair, staring into the ever-changing shapes, entranced by their dance.
The blaze shifted and jumped under his stare, each new form a uniquely existing shape that was destroyed and gone forever almost as quickly as it had arrived. George liked the fire for that reason alone; despite how many times it died and rose again, it could never truly be recreated.
It was a seductive dance that he couldn't tear his gaze from and just when he thought his eyes would crack with dry heat, there was a startling clang to his left and George blinked himself out of his stupor.
"Sheppard's pie, side of chips, two dinner rolls and tea. Black. Did I forget anything this time?"
Disinterestedly, George looked over his food and shook his head, "No, Tom. Cheers," reaching for his cup. He took a long drought.
Tom paused, as if he were about to say something to the lad before his better judgment set in and he turned with a quiet, "Sure thing, George," returning to the bar where several grumpy looking laborers clamored for drinks. George mildly smiled; Tom had indeed forgotten his cheese.
Reaching for the bread roll nonetheless, George managed to let his tired eyes fall upon the reserved chair to his right. The wood seemed to bend and move under the highlights of the fire and George found himself wondering, not for the first time that day, if he would actually care if she didn't show up.
time: 15:22
location: The Leaky Cauldron, London
characters: Pansy Parkinson, George Weasley
summary: A strange meeting over tea.
complete
The fireplace crackled with surprising heat, the tips of the flame licking high up the sides of the chimney walls, sooted with age. George sat in his usual wooden chair, staring into the ever-changing shapes, entranced by their dance.
The blaze shifted and jumped under his stare, each new form a uniquely existing shape that was destroyed and gone forever almost as quickly as it had arrived. George liked the fire for that reason alone; despite how many times it died and rose again, it could never truly be recreated.
It was a seductive dance that he couldn't tear his gaze from and just when he thought his eyes would crack with dry heat, there was a startling clang to his left and George blinked himself out of his stupor.
"Sheppard's pie, side of chips, two dinner rolls and tea. Black. Did I forget anything this time?"
Disinterestedly, George looked over his food and shook his head, "No, Tom. Cheers," reaching for his cup. He took a long drought.
Tom paused, as if he were about to say something to the lad before his better judgment set in and he turned with a quiet, "Sure thing, George," returning to the bar where several grumpy looking laborers clamored for drinks. George mildly smiled; Tom had indeed forgotten his cheese.
Reaching for the bread roll nonetheless, George managed to let his tired eyes fall upon the reserved chair to his right. The wood seemed to bend and move under the highlights of the fire and George found himself wondering, not for the first time that day, if he would actually care if she didn't show up.