Be Careful What You Wish For: 'Cause You Just Might Get It

Katrina-Carlotta had nothing to do. She actually had nothing to do. Of course, there were things that she could be doing, but nothing that she truly needed to get done. It was an odd feeling, she'd been so incredibly busy up to a week ago.

The woman had taken a month long reprieve from the British Isles in order to lend a hand to a friend. The woman had come back, and there had been mountains of stuff that needed to be done. There had been possibly traitorous Death Eaters to question, families to threaten, a few assassinations that needed doing, wizards to be blackmailed, and the few meetings from those whom needed to see her for some reason or another. In other words, she had been quite busy for two weeks. The last six days, however, had been extraordinarily uneventful. It was driving her insane.  

So, she went to Satan's. Eventful things always seemed to happen when she was at Satan's. She'd seen Jack Dyllan for the first time, made countless connections, gathered important information, ran into and poisoned someone from her past, and met Albus Potter; all in Satan's. Yes, she was sure to have a productive, or at least momentous, night. She could feel it.

Lounging at the bar, the dark witch took a delicate sip from her red wine. Figuring that it was hardly going to hurt, the woman took a larger swig from her glass. After all, it would take more than a single glass to get her drunk enough to seriously impede her reaction time.

Scanning the surrounding area, Katrina-Carlotta began to analyze the establishment's other patrons. What she was searching for, she didn't exactly know. Her eyes roamed over one politician, then three more, before she spotted two lower level Death Eaters. While the two weren't dumb, they would hardly make for stimulating conversation. Holding back a sigh, the witch sat back and continued her likely futile effort to find someone interesting.

To say that Fred Weasley was pissed would be an understatement.

No, not drunk pissed. He wasn’t anything nearing a lightweight. Every Gryfindor Quidditch after-party had been spent by him and his friends mixing and experimenting, yes illegally and rather recklessly at that, with new concoctions. Anyone who could hold down a pint of a mixture of Firewhisky, Devil’s Brew, Muggle scotch and just that sprinkle of Spice- would not succumb to the effects of alcohol easily.

He was angry pissed. Well, more like annoyed pissed, with just that tinge of frustration. If he had been angry............well, lets just say that he hadn’t been angry in a long, long time. It took a lot to truly screw with him. And when it did, things started blowing up.
Right now, the annoyance was directed at himself. Because he was restless, unease stirring beneath his skin, eyes unable to fall asleep and mind unable to absolutely concentrate on work. Anxiety. Oh, how, how did he despise it.

Because such things: worry, anxiety and their ilk, were for.....others. For the students sitting in benches ahead of him, flusteredly cramming on the eve of exams, nervously biting their nails before the release of results. For the witches and wizards who sat in the cubicles down the corridor leading to his office, flapping here and there, ink-leaking quills stuffed behind their ears and leaking on their robes, when a particularly important document got misplaced or a new case came in. For.....common folk, who had dotted his life here and there, only serving the purpose of cheering him on in Quidditch matches or hooting appreciatively at a prank gone down well. Because he was always separate from them. The spotlight; and the audience. He had coasted through examination days, rolled his eyes at revision weeks- for hadn’t time itself seemed to pause and slow down for the Weasley, just enough for him to soar through test results without lifting as much as a finger. He wasn’t among the agitated common lot who stressed at life and stressed at work and hoped and dreamed for promotions and Exceeds Expectations and pay raises. Life adjusted for him, not the other way round.

But here he was, seated at a random counter in Satan’s, unable to taste the burn of the alcohol down his throat or even wink back at the particularly randy witches down at the door. Sitting here and.......bloody hell yes, worrying. Because James had vanished and Albus was in bloody jail because he had handed himself over and the Ministry was being ruled by a lunatic who had banned ‘half-breeds’ from the greatest educational institute in the world. It almost made his blood boil.

So he knocked back the entire drink down his throat, fixated on the back of the dark-haired, long-legged witch sitting next to him for the last half hour and drawled, “You aren’t going to find any scintillating conversationalists down there. Dull as a gutted Flobberworm, the lot of them.”

"Indeed," the dark witch agreed dryly, turning to face the man who had addressed her. Katrina-Carlotta hadn't previously bothered to strike up conversation with the man to help soothe her boredom for quite a few reasons. Firstly, the man practically screamed light wizard. While there were a few that the assassin got along with well enough, Khaat Lupin for one, the female tended to avoid light practitioners at all costs. They tended to get… offended, by the type of magic she specialized in.

Secondly, the witch was pretty sure that the man held some kind of Law Enforcement job. While Katrina-Carlotta no longer needed to avoid those types unless she wanted to get arrested, old habits weren't exactly easy to break. She'd been on the runs from men like this one for over ten years, so it felt a little odd engaging the wizard in conversation.

Katrina-Carlotta didn't have to worry about getting arrested as long as she was within English boarders anymore, being Headmistress of Hogwarts. The title still felt wrong to the European's ears. Her, the head of a school? It was true, however, despite how odd it seemed. The woman was all but avoiding her friend Marie, well aware that the other witch would spend their entire next meeting laughing at her for her new job.

Katrina-Carlotta was already dedicating a significant amount of time and energy towards being in charge of the school she had never asked to run. The European was certain that, if she tried, she'd be able to make a positive change to the place of learning. She was already going through the curriculums, adding the occasionally useful charm or common potion. The assassin was very curious to see if any students would come to her office to speak to her. She was almost hoping that some would.

"I was hoping that someone interesting would show up, but I was just about to give up on that," the dark witch stated, turning to face the man who had spoken, "apparently I shouldn't have worried."

Leaning back in her seat, the assassin took another sip of her wine. Katrina-Carlotta allowed her eyes to run up and down the man sitting beside her. She was surveying him more than anything else, analyzing him based upon his appearance. The European was well aware that her attentions could be interpreted as something far more sexual, but she didn't bother to hide what she was doing. After all, if the man misunderstood her intentions, that was his problem.