Whatever It Takes

Gwen had to admit it was nice to see sunshine after such a long winter. Her apartment in the US still had snow blanketing the terrace, but here, she could dispose of her heavy winter cloak and go to a charcoal grey cloak in a lighter weight. She had missed London. It had been years, but she enjoyed being back, and she had a mission. She was putting things into motion. No one even seemed to recognize her here anymore, not in the Diagon Alley street traffic at least. It was time for a warm up, though. She went into the Leaky Cauldron and was met with sights and sounds that had been the same from generation to generation. Some of that was comforting, and some of the memories reminded her why she was here.

She ordered a red current rum and took a seat towards the stairs where she could watch the people coming in and out. She was in search of someone with a mercenarial bent. She needed someone that would do the job for the price. Gwen could bring a lot of things towards her own cause, but what she couldn't bring was youth. She needed someone just young enough and hungry enough that they were willing to work with her to bring some long overdue justice to her life. Her enemy had gone without payback far too long, and she had determined his time had come. Her bitterness and anger had had years to build, years to fester, and in the years she'd come up with a plan to bring some purity back to the wizarding world. It was high time.

The entire inside of Julian's mouth felt like it was covered in felt. He leaned on the bannister to feel his way down to the main room of the Leaky Cauldron, because he certainly couldn't see it. Rubbing his eyes didn't help; just made the pain in his temples lance painfully into one eye and completely failed to bring the room into focus.

He stumbled over to the bar. If what's-'is-name wasn't used to this by now, he had a lot to learn.

"Breakfast," Julian croaked.

It was probably not breakfast time, not that Julian would know. But he wanted his full English just the same.

"And a Bloody Mary, if you would be so kind."

Gwen took a drink of her rum and watched the man on the stairs sort of stumble down to the main floor. He looked about as hung over as it got, or perhaps a notch past. He looked like quite a lot of him was leftover from last night, truth be told, but she wasn't sure that when he was all put together he actually looked that much better. She wasn't willing to bet that there was actually much of a difference.

He was asking for breakfast and a Bloody Mary well past when anyone was asking for breakfast. And, generally, anyone who was taking a room here was rather hard on their luck.  This one might just have the makings for a satisfactory toady, if he could be motivated to follow through properly.

She touched the arm of a passing server to get her attention. "Put that man's breakfast and his drink on my tab, but, if you'd be so kind, deliver his food and drink over here to my table. If he wants it badly enough, he'll come and get it."

"Ma'am?" the waitress looked at her, questioning what Gwen might want with the likes of him.  Gwen simply nodded.  The waitress went to the bar to deliver the instructions to the bartender.

"Hurry it up," Julian complained, his voice surprisingly similar to the whine of a six-year-old rather than the rough tones of a man who'd been passed out just hours before.

Through the fishbowl vision his eyes were presenting him with at present, he saw a harried waitress hurry over in order to explain that his order had been delivered to that table over there.

Julian squinted in the direction she'd gestured before she hurried off to other tasks, this... day's? evening's? whatever... trade was apparently quite brisk.

The woman who'd paid for his meal was very austere. She looked like she ought to be organising meetings of the Witches Institute, and not in a who did the flower arranging kind of way. He'd heard stories.

He managed to pull himself upright and not stumble as he made his way over to her table.

"Milady," he said. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

And here he came. Yes, indeed, he was lovely toady material. When he approached, complete with hangover, she cast him a professional smile.

"My pleasure," she said. She motioned him to join her. "Sit. You needed breakfast, and I was pleased to do it. Perhaps someday you'll just be kind enough to return the favor for me. After all, money I have, youth I do not. Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Fawcett--Professor Fawcett."

She took a sip of her rum. Fawcett women always preferred their alcohol neat, even if it struck others as being a bit too rotgut for their own tastes. She took her time. This lad was going to need a moment to process what he was hearing through the fog between his brain cells.

And, she needed to see what motivated him. If money didn't turn out to be it, then there was always power or some other vice he lusted for. Given time, he'd give up his tell so she could offer it out to him in some form or another.

Julian did indeed sit, in order to begin shovelling his breakfast into his mouth as though he thought his benefactor might see the error of her ways at any moment.  That might very well be the case.

He merely grunted in reply to her long and rambling introduction.  The implication didn't go unnoticed, but if the name Fawcett was supposed to make an impression, she was in for disappointment.

" 'm muggleborn," he said through a mouthful of food. "Don't give a rat's what your name is."

Julian abruptly dropped his fork to the plate and tilted his head to rest his temple against his knuckles and treat her with a surprisingly lucid stare.

"I have no love for Hogwarts, Professor," he said, carefully emphasising the title she'd introduced herself with.