It really wasn't unusual to catch Arthur Pettigrew in The Three Broomsticks. Especially because the league, in their infinite wisdom, had not scheduled June games to occur until the weekend of the seventh, and without the pressure of a game this weekend Art was 100% ready and willing to be hungover at practice.
He wasn't sober, but he wasn't drunk, either. Art was somewhere in that gentle buzz before the night either petered out or got wild, and he wasn't yet sure where it was going when he showed up with a few other Quidditch players. He'd already ordered a pint when he recognized the girl, and while a normal person probably wouldn't have said anything, this was Arthur Pettigrew.
He nudged her arm. She responded but didn't acknowledge him as being, you know, who he was, so naturally Art said, "I heard you're in the shitty fathers club."
He wasn't sober, but he wasn't drunk, either. Art was somewhere in that gentle buzz before the night either petered out or got wild, and he wasn't yet sure where it was going when he showed up with a few other Quidditch players. He'd already ordered a pint when he recognized the girl, and while a normal person probably wouldn't have said anything, this was Arthur Pettigrew.
He nudged her arm. She responded but didn't acknowledge him as being, you know, who he was, so naturally Art said, "I heard you're in the shitty fathers club."