Shooting the French

David was frowning at Rob who was sitting with his feet on one of the tables, grinning like an idiot. He shook his head and looked at Pierre despairingly. He couldn’t believe he’d been woken up to tattoo something else onto his idiotic friend. He took a vial from his pocket and took the wine from Jen. He tipped the contents of the vial into her mouth and she sobered almost immediately. David conjured his briefcase of equipment and began to set it all up for Rob as Jen began to try out the wand that she’d been given. He knew she had a particularly good relationship with wands but there was a difference between being one of the ‘good guys’ and one of the ‘bad guys’. The latter probably fit Jen a little more than the average person. All she had to do was suck up her pride and act like someone else for a while and she wouldn’t be found out in a castle crawling with Death Eaters.

He glanced at Rob and dropped the booklet of tattoos onto his lap. He began to thumb through it and David rolled his eyes at the idiot before turning to Jen who was looking through the clothes. Pierre smiled at David and walked over to help the woman who looked ready to either use the Cruciatus Curse on her brother or worse. He wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged her to him. She pulled away and began to look through the clothes again. Pete didn’t know how much help he could be. He just put things together that looked good. He was guessing that big, baggy t-shirts and hoodies were okay because Jen would most likely throw herself from the Astronomy Tower before Vincent had the chance to kill her himself.

“If I make one mistake – one – and he’ll be on my ass quicker than I don’t know what.” Jen said quietly. “Does that twat have any idea what he’s going to put me through?”

Pete opened his mouth to reply but Chris cut him off, walking out from behind the booth. “Darling, if he’s on your arse than he’s either some sort of perverted parasite that you really need to see a Healer about or he really likes you.” he walked over to Rob and slapped him across the face. Jen flinched at the sound but couldn’t help but smirk at the huge handprint left on her brother’s cheek. No one could deny that he didn’t deserve it except maybe Khaat. Always faithful and all that jazz. What shit. “You need to get your act together. You’re either going to help her or we’ll let Dorothy bugger off to Majere. I don’t care either way. If he succeeds in his quest for undying, pathetic Lupin devotion then you’re screwed. I’d run home to mummy, Rob because I’m not putting up with your bull. Capeesh?”

The two of them began arguing in low tones and Pete took a yellow and black chequered dress off of the rail. He smiled and held it against Jen’s frame. She scowled at him and he took it back with a questioning look on his face. “I don’t want to look like a housewife.” She whispered.
“Honey, you’re not going to be in your own body. You can look like a housewife if you want to. Rob, bless him, probably doesn’t notice the expensive shoes, etcetera.”
“How many coats does she have?” Jen asked.
“Lots when Chris is finished.” Pete shrugged.
“I have eleven coats all used for specific reasons. I have a lot more than that at the Manor and yet I wear one, always the military green with the gold sort of tasselled shoulders... you know..”
“I remember it, yeah.” He nodded. “You’re not going to come out of this a different person. Maybe you’ll be moodier but you’ll still be the same.”
“That’s not what I’m saying.” She persisted, hearing the crack of Chris slapping Rob again. “I don’t want to pretend to be a sodding Princess, Pete.”
“Then just pretend to be Rob’s wife.” Pete snickered. “Pretend you want to shag him everywhere as long as it’s not in a public place.”
“I’d rather let him shag a bloody bottle.” Jen remarked crudely before pulling a hoodie off of the rack. She pulled it over her head and sat back down in the booth as Chris slapped Rob for the third time.