[OPEN] Complimentary

Heather strode up to the bar at the Three Broomsticks, her trip through Hogsmeade reminding her yet again why she loved Scotland so much. The surrounding area was beautiful, and it was something special indeed to be so close to another Wizarding school. She had adored Ilvermorny, but Hogwarts was a whole different beast.

As she rocked up and chose a stool, she looked up at the screens - they were showing an old Quidditch match on one and some news report on the other, though the sound wasn't up enough for her to understand what the broadcaster was telling a story about. But that wasn't why she was here; one week into her job, it was the weekend and she needed a little bit of a break. At least for a couple of hours.

The bartender came over, eyed her a little funny, and then leveled the expected question at her: "You new around here, love?"

Heather cracked a smile, but nodded and conceded that yes, she was. So then it was announced that a drink was in order, on the house. Surprised though she was, amusement lingered on her face as the drink was passed her way and she settled in to watch the match.

Fitz still seemed to like Hogsmeade, and Paul figured it was because Solstice always fed the dog a treat when she saw Fitz back in the neighborhood. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Fitz had far more friends here than Paul did. Paul had gathered that Fitz's owner had been very well liked, but no one had been prepared to suddenly take in a large dog, no matter how well behaved.

Since joining him in Ollivanders, Fitz was fitting in with Paul as if they'd always been together, and, after seeing a rather professorial looking older chap who brought in some happy little footstool who believed it was a dog, Paul had found out that no one seemed to mind Fitz being here either. Customers greeted the dog, petted the dog, gave the dog their pints, but they couldn't quite place Paul's face. Whatever.

Today, Paul went in and the bartender looked at him, pausing to try to remember Paul's name.

"Oh, Mr. Ollivander! How nice to see you!" the bartender finally came up with a name, never mind it was wrong. Close enough. "Your usual?"

"That'll do, thanks," Paul said. The bartender slid a firewhiskey across the bar to him, and Paul looked at it for a moment. A pint--that was Paul's regular--just a pint. Fitz looked at him as if to say, "That's what you get for trying to fit in."

"You're not helping," Paul muttered to the dog sitting down and noticing a willowy brunette closeby who seemed to be watching a quidditch game. "Who's winning?" he asked her.

Heather looked up sharply when a familiar name met her ear. But... Surely not. She was relatively certain that Ollivander hadn't had children, but then, she'd only heard about him off-handedly or in quick mentions in history books. Perhaps he had done.

But she felt a bit rude, staring as she was, so she turned her gaze back to the match and took a sip off the top of her crown and coke. But then he sat down next to her and her air of nonchalance was essentially useless. Oh well.

So Heather turned her head when he asked the question, not quite sure if it was for her until she noticed that he was turned a little towards her. Yes, it was definitely directed at her. "Falcons, unfortunately," she provided. But her lips quirked up into a smile despite her obvious distaste for the situation.

"There are worse things, of course. But very few of them."