OOC: You can totally ignore this post, guys. All you really need to know is Theodore Rookwood, Melissa Hayes and also, obviously, Peter are in the pub drinking with a random NPC named Philip.
Oliver Connolly was a very intelligent man and – by Jove! – he was right, too. Those who had grown truly incensed at the snow that was pouring into their houses were still stood in their living rooms, shivering in their dressing gowns, trying to scare the slush away with their eyes. In effect, they couldn’t get out; and many of the mad old Purebloods just out-of-hand refused to leave. The Ministry was nowhere to be seen – typical – and so it had fallen to a scatter-brained charity organisation to sort it out until a group of people more qualified to lead and sort it out manifested to help.
The arrival of the charity meant that, fool’s errand though it was, someone was going to have to start shovelling snow out of each front garden so they could get out those trapped inside the terraced houses. There was a finite resource of young men willing to start doing that and despite his desire to haul up against the snow and despite the fact that he was really no longer considering himself a ‘young man,’ Peter Howard had wound a scarf around his neck that morning and headed out into the weather with his son and their cat, Boots.
Finley remained occupied with the local children and it allowed his father to start shifting slush against the rising tide of the stuff in the garden of Old Missus Higgins. A charity worker, in shocking purple robes, was stood on the doorstep, the pointed end of his hat sagging further and further down as he grew mournful and irritated. Bless him, he was trying. While she was screaming simultaneously at the snow and at him, the man remained calm and Peter couldn’t help but smirk into his scarf as he moved more snow into the wheelbarrow he’d been provided with by a scatty ginger witch in equally shocking robes.
“Philip!” A lyrical voice called out over the mire of white. Peter looked up despite himself and turned to see a blonde witch in a long black coat and a bright red Hogwarts scarf hurrying along the low brick wall with plum coloured posters under her arm. Her boots, Peter observed, didn’t look as though they had a lot of grip on them and he stepped forward just as the inevitable happened – she slipped and fell straight into him. Thankfully, he had his wits about him enough to catch the witch and she let out a boisterous laugh, planting a kiss on his cheek in thanks before scrambling from his arms to the side of the other wizard: Philip.
Further up the road, another man appeared but this one Peter recognised instantly as Theodore Rookwood. It dawned on him then who the familiar witch was. If there were Rookwoods in the area, it meant that there were people around who he knew, too. He turned and watched as the witch shuffled her posters, talking animatedly to the wearied wizard, blathering on about something to do with Divination and how ‘her students’ were doing so well, he’d be impressed. Melissa Hayes. It had to be.
“Millie, bloody hell. Would you give that sodding witch that flipping thing so she can go down to Satan’s and we can pee off?” Theodore snapped, appearing at the garden gate.
She swivelled around and Peter felt his heart leap into his mouth. He was far too close to this. He could see Finley, too, rushing around with the other children. He was the spit of the man she’d married when he was a child. Although, thankfully the boy had taken some of his mother’s looks and so it would only take someone who knew to recognise it. Peter felt as if he was going to burst. With his cousin one side of the fence and his sister-in-law the other, they were far, far too close to him. He knew he should have become a Muggle but the etchings in his skin and his quick-fingered approach to his life meant that it was never, ever going to be something he could achieve. Azkaban was in his blood now – and so was wizardry. He couldn’t hide forever, you could say, but he’d give it a damn good go.
“Do I know you, mate?” The Irish wizard glanced over at Peter. The elder man looked up and blanched, paling the colour of the snow around them and he opened his mouth, trying to articulate that no, he didn’t but it wasn’t quite coming out.
“Oh Missus Higgins!” Millie exclaimed, poking her poster through the door. “If you’re ever going to come out – this man, what’s your name?” She looked at him pointedly.
“Peter,” he stuttered out. It was a lie, of course. An age-old lie now.
“Peter! Thank you. Peter’s cleared your garden but it won’t last long so I suggest you get your paisley panties out of their twist and get a wriggle on either to the Leaky Cauldron or to Satan’s. Thank you for your time!”
“Satan’s?” Philip looked at her curiously over the rim of his glasses.
“The alcohol in the floor makes it really sticky so the snow can’t go further than the doors. It’s upstairs, mind you, but the main bar is alright for now. I don’t think it will last much longer,” the witch explained.
“Right, good, Missus Higgins is going to die,” Theodore snapped, rubbing his hands together. “I want a brandy. Can we please go to the pub now?”
“I concur,” Philip nodded. “There’s a back way up there. Say, Peter, would you like to join us?”
“No I … I shouldn’t,” Peter muttered. “I need to shovel the snow out of—”
“Oh, sod them,” Theodore rolled his eyes. “Come and have a drink, mate.”
“You see, I have my son here,” Peter protested.
“So, they can make him a hot chocolate,” Millie pointed out, looping her arm with Peter’s. “Leave it for a bit and get your second wind for later. Come on, otherwise Theodore will die for want of alcohol.”
“I’m not that bad,” the wizard flushed pink.
“Course you’re not,” Millie rolled her eyes. “Where’s your son, Peter?”
Finley joined them when he was shouted for, having gathered up Boots in his arms. True to her fashion which Peter measured was friendly and warm, Millie left his side to talk to the boy and the pair took up conversation happily as they all wandered down the road. At one point, Theodore asked where Keiran was and that just about finished Peter’s heart off. Her reply that she’d last seen him with “your sister, Theo,” and the query “Adriana?” followed by “Yeah, by Flourish and Blott’s helping Athena” was about all Peter could take but with his son happy and talking to his aunt, albeit he didn’t know it, he couldn’t disappear now.
They arrived in the Leaky Cauldron just after the Patronus was cast and Theodore had grumbled at the sight of it. Nevertheless they walked in – trudged, more like – and Millie bounced up to the bar to order. Hot spiced cider, two of, a brandy, some hot chocolate and---
“Peter what do you want?”
He snapped from his thoughts. “Oh, um. Nothing, love. Thanks.”
“The man wants a brandy,” Theodore’s hand clapped onto his shoulder. “If all else fails we can pour it on the snow and see what happens, eh?”
“Sure,” he replied warily.
“The Order are here, Mills,” Theodore pointed out hesitantly as the witch handed them their drinks.
“Just be glad the Death Eaters aren’t,” she replied meaningfully.
They could all be glad of that point.