10:00pm, May 30th, 1888 — The Three Broomsticks

Open to 1-2 ACAB (pref. UC/MC) gentleman who would not be attending the COB!

Everyone knows what I look like
Not even one of them knows me
Yeah, I just want to drink tequila with my friends
I'm so defeated I just want this shit to end
— Everybody Hates Me, The Chainsmokers
Ever since she'd been admitted to the hospital and her story (and now her father's, apparently) had been published on the front pages of The Daily Prophet, Bella had known better than to show her face in society. "Society" was the key word, as she'd wandered about incognito — sporting a dress that looked like it belonged to a working class woman rather than a well-bred debutante, along with a matching cloak and bonnet that masked any features that were notably Bella-ish.

She'd made an attempt to visit the house of one of her Hogwarts friends before being (figuratively) slapped in the face with a reminder that it was the evening of Hogwarts' Annual Coming Out Ball. Had it really been an entire year since she'd debuted and danced in the Great Hall? A year since she'd met Mr. Gladstone? A year since she'd begun her adult life?

Apparently so, and that came with a reminder that she'd managed to do nothing other than mess it up. She'd grouchily left Wellingtonshire and headed towards the only logical place in Hogsmeade: the Three Broomsticks. There was likely no one there who would know her, and no one who was sober enough at this hour to engage her in any meaningful conversation.

And that was good, because she'd decided she needed a drink.

She'd found her way into the establishment without much trouble, and quickly found a seat near the end of the bar that was unoccupied — at that moment, at least.

By the time her drink had arrived, the pub grew louder with boisterous laughter as a few gentleman (and she thought a lady or two, but she couldn't see through the crowd) entered and unfortunately found their seats right beside her. Awkwardly, Bella lowered her head in order to avoid being identified until someone beside her made a point to nudge her arm. She offered them a half-glance, enough to acknowledge them but not enough to look directly at them.

"Mmm?" she hummed in response despite knowing they'd likely not hear her.

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

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."

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The following 2 users Like Arthur Pettigrew's post:2 users Like Arthur Pettigrew's post
   Bella Scrimgeour, Ophelia Devine

With all the hairs in her face and the awkward way she was facing (and not to mention her lack of familiarity with him), Bella didn't realize who he was until he spoke. Suddenly, her head snapped around to look him in the eyes, a scowl on her face. No matter where she went or what she did, it seemed she couldn't avoid anything she associated with Ben Crouch.

(Not that there was anything or anyone else she could associate Arthur-fucking-Pettigrew with.)

She didn't even dislike him, really. He'd never done anything than warn her about what her actions might bring, and she hadn't disagreed with him on any of his points. Hell, she'd agreed with him on many of them.

However, his presence was very unwelcome in her very vulnerable and soon-to-be very drunk state. She didn't want to have to watch her mouth, hence why she'd tried to situate herself away from people. And she was not at all willing to give up the alcohol she'd just started drinking, because it wasn't hard to imagine she'd need it.

"I've always been there, thanks. People are just finally noticing it," she grumbled, taking another sip.

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

"Sorry about that," Arthur said, "For what it's worth, I always thought he was a shithead." Arthur's Encyclopedic Knowledge of Rich Assholes was, once again, important and had, once again, been gloriously ignored by Ben. People really ought to pay him more attention.

He gave her a good look and took a long sip of his pint. Scars on her neck, wild hair, poor person outfit. And she was drinking in a bar around an assortment of men, which was likely to catch society's attention.

"So you've, what? Decided that he hadn't ruined your life enough so you might as well finish the job?"

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Bella didn't know if she believed that, but what was she going to do, argue? That would definitely be a conversation onlookers might enjoy listening into, and that was precisely what Bella had hoped to avoid.

"Why yes, I specifically came here tonight with the intention of contracting alcohol poisoning and meeting my untimely demise," she commented sarcastically. "That seems like the only appropriate way to go out, doesn't it?" she asked, raising her glass off the table.

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

Arthur snorted over his pint. "See, you're being sarcastic, but I'm pretty sure that's exactly what you're doing," he said. It shouldn't matter to him; in fact, it really didn't matter to him, other than that when she ended up in a ditch somewhere Ben would probably be sad.

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He was convinced she was being sarcastic, and while she'd said it like that, she wasn't all too sure she really was. Sure, she didn't think dying was the right way to escape her problems, but it wasn't not a way. Her father could use her death as proof that she'd been the one to hurt herself and her family could be whole again, she wouldn't be able to get into anymore trouble, and she could avoid the much more painful death caused by starvation that she would inevitably suffer once she ran out of savings.

Bella made a pointed effort to chug down as much of her pint as she could in one go while facing Mr. Pettigrew, almost in a taunting way. He had nothing to gain or lose from her death, but she was in a sour mood and bickering was one was to handle that. Hopefully both of them would be too drunk to remember this in the morning.

"When I die, then, please inform my family that I'll be waiting for them in hell," she retorted.

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

Art watched her chug her drink. His eyebrows furrowed together into a concerned little knot. Sarcastic or not, she really was going to get herself into trouble - health trouble, if not safety trouble if she kept going like this. He didn't respond to her cranky comment, and instead took a sip of his beer.

"Did you know I ruined my mother's life?" Art asked, conversationally.

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Bella eyed Mr. Pettigrew suspiciously, but didn't comment at the moment. Her mind immediately went to Ben, and the next moment she was wondering whether or not he usually spent time with people who ruined their parents' lives. (Had he ruined his parents' lives? She'd never actually heard anything about Mr. and Mrs. Crouch.)

"I didn't, actually," she responded finally. "I think I ruined both of my mothers' lives, to be honest," she added without any explanation. "What'd you do to your mother?"

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

So she hadn't known. This meant that skinny eighteen-year-old version of himself who started high-stakes gambling to impress a man he had a crush on was separated from Arthur, through time and distance. But Art still felt that kid - he still felt guilty when he remembered the old house, when he looked at his current (not terrible) bank balance, when he passed a casino.

"My father died when I was a baby," Arthur explained, "So I inherited all of his money when I turned seventeen. I used to be rich, like you."

He sighed and twirled a circle on the side of his glass with his fingertip. "Then I left school, and got involved in gambling. A lot of gambling," he said, "And two years later there was no money left and we lost the houses, and my mother had to become a governess. And I can never undo any of that, or get it back."

Arthur looked from his glass to Miss Scrimgeour. "So that's why I said I was the Ghost of Christmas Future."

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That was... shockingly dramatic, almost (or maybe even completely) on-part with her own history. Maybe she and Mr. Pettigrew were more alike than she'd imagined — not that there weren't differences in their situation. Pettigrew's misfortunes had come from her own mistakes, while her mistakes had been motivated by other people's impression of who she was based on something she hadn't had a hand in.

(Not that she was in a position to judge in this moment.)

"I'm sorry that happened," she said quietly, unsure if she had anything helpful to respond with. It wasn't as if she was in a position to be giving life advice — she was borderline-drunk and currently living in a muggle village in a cowardly attempt to hide from her problems. Some Gryffindor, she thought bitterly.

"You have a wife, though, right? Friends? A job that makes you happy? You have something to live for, at least. A reason to go on," she offered with a somber smile before taking another swig.

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

Jesus, she was going to try and turn this into a reason she should die. Arthur frowned. "I do now," he said, "But the entire thing happened almost a decade ago. For a while - well. You're not out of the woods yet."

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Bella couldn't help but chuckle, but it was a bitter one rather than a happy one.

"With all due respect, Mr. Pettigrew, you're a man," she commented, leaning forward to prop her arm up and rest her chin in a single palm as she faced him. "Women like me — we're regarded as lost causes. Men changing their ways and bouncing back from misfortune is a storybook plot. Women trying to change their ways — well, you don't see many of those in storybooks, do you? Not as heroines."

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

This was similar to something that Trouble had told him once, so Art made a skeptical face and rolled his eyes at her. "That's bullshit, Irish," he said, "Your life isn't a storybook." She could give up on herself or she couldn't, but he wasn't going to let it come up to some blah blah gender thing. Sure, women were oppressed, but that didn't mean she should just give up and die in a ditch.

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Bella, in return, rolled her eyes. What was it with men and their nicknames for women? Was it a Ben-Arthur Pettigrew thing they had going on? Were they secret codes? If so, why did they refer to her as that... while she was right there? It didn't matter, she quickly decided, and redirected her attention to his actual point.

"My life may not be a storybook," she cast, taking another sip. "but they're good representations of how society feels. The only way I'd end in a storybook is if my story was used to show what happened to girls who disobey their parents."

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— MJ is MAGICAL —

"I think your life would be better if you spent less time sitting in bars feeling sorry for yourself," Arthur suggested in his most helpful tone.

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The following 1 user Likes Arthur Pettigrew's post:1 user Likes Arthur Pettigrew's post
   Bella Scrimgeour