January 28th, 1891 — Irvingly Casino

Arthur hadn't gone to the casino on Tuesday, because it wasn't like he could go to the casino two days in a row. That was too much, that was the behavior of someone who had to go to the casino, and he didn't have to go. On Wednesday he'd popped in, but only because one of their new beaters was heading in, and as team captain Arthur really ought to go in with him, so that he could feel like he was part of the team. Thursday he didn't have practice, so he stayed in Hogsmeade, and finished up the broomcare project he'd started on Monday.

Wednesday hadn't really counted, though, when he considered it. He had only played a hand with the beater, and he'd lost two sickles, and then he went home to go for a walk with Gwenog to Quality Quidditch Supplies and back. People with problems didn't play just a hand and then spend the rest of the afternoon with their daughters.

So really, if you thought about it, this was the second time he'd been. Lots of people went to the casino twice in a week and lost more money than he had - three sickles was practically nothing, and he'd lost two on the dice games here so far, but that was just a warmup. So - two times in a week, that was fine, that was normal.

He had himself just about convinced when he spotted her. Art should leave her alone and he knew it, but it had been so long since he saw Bella Scrimgeour in public that he couldn't help but approach her at one of the card tables. Art had a drink in his hand, but he'd only taken a few sips from it, and overall he looked pretty put together - he'd changed back into his regular clothes after practice, and he had cologne on. (Only people who were losing it looked it, in a casino - since Art was here and he was normal, it only made sense that he looked put together.)

"I thought you were one with the dragons now, or whatever," Arthur said. After everything with Mrs. Crouch earlier this week and - he should really try to check on Ben, but Art wasn't sure he wanted Ben to know he was here, because it would be a whole thing - Bella Scrimgeour had actually gone far up the rankings in Arthur's estimation. Still, he couldn't fully restrain the urge to be a dick.

---

Bella did not have the luxury of gambling often, or with much money at all, but she'd gotten by playing cards with the three sickles she'd brought just fine. Now with five and a half sickles, she could almost justify upping her bet. It was probably for the best that she did not gamble often, because when Bella was on a hot streak she was a little too cocky and a little too flirty with the dealer, who seemed to be taking her jabs in stride. She was smiling and giggling—and then she was not, because the unmistakable face of Arthur Pettigrew appeared. Her expression turned to confusion, as if she was trying to process his presence after three free glasses of wine; she did not regularly see nor talk to Arthur Pettigrew, and his presence did not mesh well with the atmosphere of overindulgence and girly giddiness that she'd created at the card table.

"And I thought you were old and boring," she fired back, not an original insult nor really an accurate assessment of his life, but she couldn't be bothered to remember what he was supposed to be doing after that he'd helped Team Britain lose the Quidditch World Cup. (Not that she was trying to tabs on Arthur Pettigrew. She was keeping tabs on Witch Weekly, though, and they mentioned him frequently enough.)

---

The insult rolled off of him easily - he'd heard worse - but he supposed that his had, too. They had more in common, now, than they had the last time Art talked to her.

Arthur glanced at the cards, at the dealer - who was definitely into Miss Scrimgeour - and made a decision. He sat down at the table with her and pulled out a sickle to buy a chip from the dealer, who handed him a set of cards. "Well," Art said, "I suppose I ought to congratulate you on not getting maimed, or whatever, I know they don't have the best track record with that."

He wasn't usually one to take cheap shots at the MacFustys, because he knew enough of them to feel bad about it, but it was hard to find a segue into something else to say about her so soon.

---

As he sat down next to her Bella mentally groaned—or she thought she'd done it mentally, and for a moment she worried she'd made an actual noise, because when she looked back towards the dealer he was looking back at her with a mixture of confusion and concern. Maybe he'd just heard Arthur Pettigrew's comment, or maybe it was because her lips had slipped into a pout. She picked up her glass and brought it to her lips, taking a long sip of the sweet wine, and then promptly placed it down on the table with a little too much force, causing a small amount of the wine to spill over the rim and onto the table.

"And I suppose I ought to congratulate you on being able to walk after the World Cup," she said, motioning for the dealer to play another hand. Bella did not take insults to heart, not anymore at least. She'd been called every name under the book, and at least Pettigrew's were a little witty.

---

Arthur snorted; the mention of his kneecap was a good one. She was, he remembered, witty. "And how are you finding life among the common people?" he asked Miss Scrimgeour. He took a sip of his drink and looked at his cards - they were Not Good. Knowing that he probably ought to fold right away, Art didn't - it was better to go down swinging than to lose right away.

---

She wasn't going to question why Arthur Pettigrew was in a casino, but questions about why he was here— at her table, questioning her about her life—were on the tip of her tongue and it was only the distraction of the card game that stopped them from passing throug her lips. She placed another handful of knuts on the table, upping her bet. She had a good hand and was terrible at keeping a poker face; fortunately for her she wore a permanent smile after the wine so anyone would have a difficult time telling if she was smiling because of the cards or because she was pleasantly buzzed.

"It's... exciting," she said, flashing the dealer a wider smile as she caught his eyes. He placed down another card, and it was Arthur Pettigrew's turn to make a decision: up his bet or fold. Exciting was probably not the best word to describe her life; unpredictable was probably more accurate, but it had a negative connotation that she didn't feel was completely applicable. She'd had her low points, and life was not always easy, but she overall preferred it to the scrutiny she'd faced as Miss Annabelle Scrimgeour. Now she could just be Bella.  "Did it feel that way when you joined the common people?" She did not know the specifics of Arthur Pettigrew's life, but she did know something had happened years ago that had left his family in ruin. She wasn't one to judge, and even if she was... well, she was in no place to.

---

Ugh. He had garbage cards, and he should really fold, but folding so quickly felt like admitting failure. So he upped his bet - he had enough pocket change that he would be able to play enough later to make up for it.

When she described how she felt now, Arthur couldn't help but feel sort of - happy for her. He was startled into smiling. "Not at first," he admitted. At first he had been - struggling, and wildly sad, and drunk most of the time. "But now I'm - perhaps grateful for it. I couldn't have the life I have now if I hadn't lost everything first." He wouldn't have Dezzie, who was a halfblood; he would not have Gwenog, either. Things had a way of working out in the end, and Arthur had outgrown his mistakes.

---

Bella picked up her glass of wine and downed what remained. It tasted like juice and the more she drank the more difficult it came to stop herself t0 continue treating it like juice. Luckily for her and her financial health, she had built up a healthy tolerance and was not noticeably affected. The same could not be said for the last time she'd sat next to Arthur Pettigrew.

"I remember it being like that," she said mindlessly. There were times in the Hebrides where she'd felt like a burden, like the MacFustys only pretended to like her because they felt bad for her. Then there was the time at the Hog's Head, where she got bossed around, touched by drunk men, and called all sorts of names when she missed a spot while cleaning. Those were the rough times. They had passed mostly, and she was more secure then she was then—emotionally and financially.

The dealer waved down the waitress for her, as he'd done with the two glasses before, and Bella continued staring at her cards. Arthur Pettigrew upped his bet and she eyed him suspiciously, not knowledgeable enough about the game to know how likely it was to have a good hand but mostly because she didn't know his strategy for playing. The dealer placed down another card: one that was neither bad nor good for her. She tentatively placed down another few sickles.

"I'm grateful, too," she said, finally looking him straight in the eye. "I work at the zoo now. I'm apprenticing." She did not know why she was opening up to him, not when it was a fight with him that cost her her finger, but she was going to blame it on her glass.

---

"That sounds enjoyable," Arthur said, in an actually-pleasant tone. "Animals, and all that." Arthur traded the card in the middle for one of his own, taking his terrible hand to a still-bad hand. He put another few sickles in, too. That was - well, that was four sickles in, and he'd lost three already today. But seven sickles wasn't even that many, and with the other three (ten) it was still practically nothing. He hadn't even lost half a week's wages, yet.

"I think I was unfair to you the last time we met," Arthur said, carefully.

---

It was enjoyable, but for some reason the fact that he had an opinion about it made her feel a little insecure. Apprenticing at the zoo was a far cry from what she could have accomplished if her life hadn't taken such a dramatic turn. She could have been a healer, maybe even a wife. That was what she'd been expected to do, and now that her father was dead and the pressure was off, she felt a little silly for believing that life would have been the worst. Now being a glorified zookeeper was her best bet for her future happiness.

"Yeah, well," she managed, rearranging the cards mindlessly in her hands. "I got my finger bit by a diricrawl last weekend. It's not for the faint of heart." (She had nearly flung the diricrawl across the enclosure, earning her a stern eye from her supervisor. That was but an excerpt in the Daily Life of Bella Scrimgeour.)

The dealer placed down another card, meaning it was time for them to place their final bets before he turned over the last card. It was neither the ideal card nor a damning one either, but she still had no clue what Arthur Pettigrew had. She began to count her coins, then froze. Was Arthur Pettigrew... apologizing? She glanced up at him wearing an expression of confusion. "....Oh?" was all she could manage.

---

If he was still being flippant, Arthur would have made a comment about her finger. As it was, he stored it for later - he was sort of confident that they would slide back into trading barbs with one another sooner or later. But with her oh? he knew that he was going to have to elaborate; a real apology might be necessary.

He didn't know what to say. They understood each other pretty well, now; they had both spent enough time scrapping that they were no longer active trainwrecks, and he no longer suspected that she was going to ruin Ben's life. Maybe that was why he'd been so unfair, on their previous encounters - there had still been the chance that she would drag Ben down with her, because Art was half-convinced that Ben would try to save her. But Bella Scrimgeour left Ben intact, and then Ben went and fell in love with Melody Crouch, who was making him miserable.

"I didn't have a good read on you," he said, "I thought that we -" he didn't know how to articulate his point "- I thought that you had ill intentions, with my friend. And so I was unfair to you, because of it. But you're better than that."

Arthur had been trying to protect Ben; he'd failed in the end, but he had been trying.

Arthur traded the card in the middle for one in his hand; it was still bad. He upped his bet with another sickle.

---

His apology was... unexpected, and seemed a little out of place given their current conversation. They had been gambling, taunting each other, and then suddenly the subject of Ben Crouch came up up, and—well, she hadn't thought about him in a long time. Not that he was the forgettable sort, but memories of those months of trauma blended together and were pushed to the back of her mind, and he was part of those memories.

It would have been so easy to accept his apology and move forward, but one of her fatal flaws was her chattiness and she knew it.

"I never have ill intentions with people," she said, just so he would know. And it was true: whenever she'd hurt someone, it was never on purpose. Ben included. She'd gotten him in trouble on more than one occasion, ruined his good name, and he'd always been good to her. Then there were people like Mr. Gladstone, whose heart she'd broken, and Lucille, who she'd practically abandoned out of shame. She never meant to hurt any of them. "I'm glad you've figured that out, though. I guess you're not so terrible."

The dealer flipped over the last card and motioned for she and Arthur Pettigrew to reveal their cards. Bella did so, and then laughed.

"Not so terrible as a person at least. Are you sure you know how to play this game?" she teased.

---

Arthur shrugged. It was fine, if Miss Scrimgeour wanted to keep thinking that he was terrible as a person - (although he was privately glad that she wasn't.) He'd done enough bad things to enough people that he was used to being written off, and he knew that he could spend the rest of his life trying to make up for it and he wouldn't be able to.

(He was doing a bad thing now, wasn't he, sitting at the card table at the casino like he didn't know exactly how this story ended for him, every time? Thirteen sickles in total losses was not good, that was a week's wages for the maid who came by the Pettigrew household, and Arthur knew that he could cover it this time but how long could he cover this for when Desdemona wasn't working at all anymore, he knew how this would go sooner or later, you never broke even at a casino -)

Art shoved the thought down deep, and laughed at Miss Scrimgeour's comment. To his ears it almost sounded genuine, so he figured he'd be fine. "Listen, Irish," Art said, bringing back the nickname for the sake of it, "I've been playing this game for as long as you've been a Scrimgeour, I think. We're playing another hand so I can prove it, alright?"

He was being dramatic, he thought, in the face of a loss - sometimes you did break even at a casino. A casino had never singlehandedly ruined his life; that was betting, and as long as he didn't get back into betting, things could be - would be - perfectly fine.

---

Bella giggled away and collected her chips. She was going to be rich—or at least richer! And Arthur Pettigrew did not seem so put off by the loss, bringing up once again the fact that he was oh so older than her. "That's only more embarrassing for you. Did you know you had a bad hand, or were you hoping mine was worse?" If that was the case, he probably assumed she was the stupid one, and thus it served him right to lose his hand! She was happy to collect her chips and have part of her rent paid for the week.

"It doesn't matter. Either way we're I'm going to win." She flashed the dealer another girlish smile, and he was smiling back at him. She hadn't figured it out yet, but she thought he was a muggle. They were easier to befriend than wizards, she'd found, especially after all of the magical community had lost any sort of respect for her. "How about this, Pettigrew," she said, smiling conspiratorially as the dealer began shuffling the cards. "If I win the next hand, you have to buy my drinks the next time I run into you." (She would definitely make sure she saw him again if so. It was much harder to get free drinks at a pub than it was at a casino, and she hung out there more.)

---

"I knew I had a bad hand," Arthur admitted; he ran his hand through his hair, sheepishly. He should have known better. He did know better; he should have folded. Still, Art remembered - he never really knew when to accept that his hand was bad, even when he knew that his hand was bad. It could be a bit of a personal problem.

Thirteen sickles; he could make up some of thirteen sickles. Especially when Miss Scrimgeour was so over-confident already.

"Alright, Miss Scrimgeour," Arthur said, "You have a deal. And what do I get when I win the hand?" He couldn't lose to her twice in a row; that would just be bad for his dignity.

---

So Arthur Pettigrew was stupid and risky, which only made Bella all the more eager to go another round. She sipped her wine happily, her smile visible from around the rim of the glass. She pondered what she could offer him, and despite her usual creativity in her poor decisions, she drew a blank.

"Well," Bella said, a smile settling on her face. "I can't think of anything I have that you'd want. Unless there is, then you must tell me. If not, let's say I'll owe you a favor." She supposed she could manage to buy his drinks if it came to it. Or maybe free zoo admission. Or one of her favorite recipes for a headache cures—she was going to need it in the morning, she suspected.

---