January 9th 1891 — Pettigrew Residence, Bartonburg, Hogsmeade

Over the past few months, Desdemona Pettigrew had taken to retiring by nine thirty each evening. Fitz did not typically make a habit of knowing the routines of his friends' wives, but given that this particular wife did not like him overmuch, he had made an exception. Besides, he did indeed need a chat with Art.

The events of that afternoon had been surprising, to say the least. Had they not been interrupted when they had, Fitz might now be still entangled in his bedsheets with Miss Gallivan rather than sat across the kitchen table from his closest friend. Good company either way, but Art would never be a pleasurable companion in quite the same way.

But he had not said anything about the interlude right away—he wanted to, yes, but there was an unspoken understanding that a gentleman did not kiss, grope, or fuck good girls at all, and when he ignored that understanding, he certainly did not tell people about it.

"I'm going to ask you a question of a personal nature," Fitz said rather than asked as their conversation reached a natural lull and the bottle of whiskey between them—expensive, brought by Fitz—reached its halfway mark. "Mrs. Pettigrew—she was a virgin when you married, yes?"

— Arthur Pettigrew —

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   Cecily Gallivan

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Arthur's best friends in the world were Ben Crouch and Fitz Prewett, which was to say that he was very much used to having weirdly loaded conversations over alcohol while he waited for them to circle around to their eventual point. So he was not surprised when Fitz pivoted at a lull in their conversation and halfway through the bottle, but he was surprised by the question itself.

Desdemona would have hated this; Art hoped she was actually asleep. He took a sip of whiskey before he responded.

"She was," Art said, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Can I ask why the interest in virginity?"

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Though he had been the one to ask the question, Fitz could not help but wrinkle his nose slightly—he did not like to think of Desdemona Pettigrew in a sexual capacity.

"My sisters were as well," Fitz returned, "unless they pulled off some sort of marvelous coup without our mother knowing—an unlikely accomplishment. Indeed, although one does seem to know when young ladies shed their virtue in advance of exchanging rings, it does not generally seem to be something they are eager to do."

Even still today, Fitz had himself prised little more than kisses from women of a certain background, but Miss Gallivan's eagerness had him off balance.

— Arthur Pettigrew —

  

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A sense of trepidation sprouted in Arthur's chest and started to grow. Maybe he had spent too long being friends with Ben Crouch, but he wasn't sure he liked where this was going.

"Did you meet a lady who was eager?" Art asked. He took a sip of his drink, finished it, and poured some more whiskey into the glass; he was far from sober, but he had a strong sense he was going to need to be drunker for this.

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"Very," he answered, a self-satisfied smirk in spite of himself. "However we were...interrupted."

— Arthur Pettigrew —

  

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Arthur frowned. "And yet you remain un-assaulted, evidently?" he said; generally, people didn't take kindly to it when they found debutantes with rakes.

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"The young lady stunned the woman who found us," he admitted with a bemused chuckle, still stunned himself by the way events had unfolded.

— Arthur Pettigrew —

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   Cecily Gallivan

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Arthur took another sip of his drink, because he did not want to choke on it. "Is she... known? To be sort of-" he paused, thinking "- you know, whore-ish?"

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That was the thing. Cecily Gallivan had, at worst come across as silly to Fitz—though in truth, it had only been in the past year that he had grown to see her as woman at all, not just Nathaniel Gallivan's young daughter. It made her wantonness earlier in the day all the more confusing and, if he was honest, arousing. Of thought. And other things.

"I hadn't thought so," Fitz answered after taking another drink. "She seemed to be decidedly...ordinary, if a bit quidditch-obsessed." Far be it for Fitzroy Prewett to condemn anyone for that however. "She was not experienced by any stretch," he added quickly, recalling the lack of practice (but not enthusiasm) to her movements, "but plainly not for lack of interest."

— Arthur Pettigrew —

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Arthur frowned; after everything with Ben and a few flighty debutantes, this whole thing made him nervous. He wished he had a better mental catalogue of the Quidditch-obsessed debutantes of England, but hadn't managed to make any guesses as to the girl's identity yet. "And she doesn't think you're going to marry her or anything?" he asked, sort of confused as to how this had even happened. "I mean - enthusiastic debutantes sort of feel like a trap, I don't know."

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The thought of marrying Cecily Gallivan had occurred to Fitz in the way that the thought of marrying any attractive young lady did: a firm maybe and a hasty step away to more pleasurable topics, like sport or brandy. While he knew the fairer sex tended to be more eager to tie the knot and that, if Witch Weekly was anything to go by, he was considered to be a catch (rightly so, in his own estimation), he had never given any serious thought to the matrimonial designs of anyone who had not made them abundantly clear.

(That thought was, without exception, run.)

"I don't see why she would," he answered his friend with a shrug. "We hardly exchanged epistles of love—if she does not know me well enough to know I have no intention to marry any time soon, then she is hardly worth altering that opinion for."

— Arthur Pettigrew —

  

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Perhaps if Art wasn't used to Ben's problems he would have been softer on the hypothetical girl, but instead he was thinking about Melody Crouch, and how Ben said on New Year's that he wasn't sure things were going to work out.

"And I'm certainly not suggesting you alter your opinion," Art said, because he could not imagine Fitz marrying again anytime soon, "Just that debutantes can be a rather caustic combination of - naïve and flirtatious and manipulative, when they want to be. But maybe she's just an eager girl."

Art had no confidence of this.

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It was unlike Arthur, Fitz thought, to be so moderated in his approach to life. Either there was something very wrong with his friend, or he himself had erred in his brief forray into the wilderness that was Cecily Gallivan. The wizard did not relish either option.

"Is everything alright, Art?" he asked hesitantly.

— Arthur Pettigrew —

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The concept of his not being alright had not actually occurred to Arthur, and he had to process it for a second. Things with Dezzie were - rough, admittedly, and he felt like he was spinning out with little to hold onto, and he wanted to fix things for Ben and it felt like he couldn't. But he was fine, he was alright, he was fun Arthur and he wasn't being fair to Fitz right now, was he?

Arthur didn't think he was lying when he said: "I'm alright." And he couldn't leave that in the air for long, so he followed it up quickly.

"I think I've just gotten a little boring with Quidditch so weird," Art said ruefully; he ran a hand through his hair. "I think you can cavort with her all you want as long as you... don't get caught by any fathers or brothers. Or marry her. But by all means teach her to be a better kisser if you can get away with it."

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Fitz did not quite believe his friend, but prying was decidedly the territory of Harriet Prewett—he himself was not inclined to indulge.

Instead, he chuckled, "Oh, no need to worry on that score. Kindly stand sentry and warn me if anyone who might murder me is near?"

— Arthur Pettigrew —

  

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Arthur grinned. "Of course," he said, "I really prefer you remain un-murdered."

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