[OPEN] Starting with the Windows

Like so many things in Peter Howard’s life, taking over the Hog’s Head had been something he’d fallen into rather by accident as opposed to choice. It had come cheap, in truth, and it’d been on a whim that he’d bought the place, typically having known better than to plunge his money into something that didn’t have a lot of a chance of working. Peter didn’t have enough money to be that frivolous. Finley was optimistic, though, and the boy had good instincts which made Peter feel a lot better about signing himself off to owning a pub whose reputation could hardly be called winning and favourable. Still, Peter hoped to reform it.

A van was pulling into the courtyard at the back of the pub to drop off barrels which would go on tap as well as cases of wine, spirits and all the rest. Obviously Firewhisky, too. He didn’t think he’d get any trade at all if he didn’t have Ogden’s on his bar. It was that he was watching go in as he stood in the street, barefoot, with his hands loose in the sweatpants riding low on his hips. A holey t-shirt kept the chill off of his shoulders. Scratching his hand across the fluff on his cheek, Peter waited for the van to stop before gesturing for the layabout Hogwarts students he’d hired for the afternoon to start unloading.

It was a beautiful spring day, really, and the sunshine almost felt summer-like. He wasn’t fooled, though, and when his son had asked to go out to play, Peter had made sure the boy had his coat on. Speaking of, he was down the road, eagerly making friends with local lads and it gave Peter a certain amount of peace of mind. He wasn’t going to miss his old home in Essex and, already, a lass from the local school had come round to talk to Finley about joining in the coming weeks. It settled at least some of Peter’s nerves. Not quite all of them, mind, but it was a start.

“Mr Howard!” One of the students called. “Where d’you want this case of wine?”

Peter chuckled quietly to himself and shook his head before moving off of the pavement to go and help the boys. Soon enough, with a bit of work, they got everything into the bar and once they were paid they cleared off, leaving Peter to start work outside. He filled up a bucket of soapy water and began with the windows. He just prayed this was going to come off because otherwise it was going to be a very expensive failure, especially given how much work he’d have to put into it.

Angelique wasn't sure she approved of this Howard bloke. He appeared to be quite community minded, with his small child running round the village and hiring students (hiring!) to help unload the carts.

What she disliked most about about him, though, was his terrible dress sense. Angelique liked the view of a good working man's back as much as anyone and considering the state of the shirt he was wearing, there was no reason to deny everyone the pleasure.

It wasn't until he began soaping up the Head's darkened windows that 'Lique finally pushed from her perch on a fence across the road and sauntered across to him. Such a move was definitely alarming.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she got close.

The former Hufflepuff had expected, rather naively perhaps, to meld silently into the fabric of Hogsmeade. Having teachers at his doors and students hauling his barrels hardly counted but he didn't expect to be levelled with a question from a stranger straight off the bat.

Dipping his cloth into the foamy water, Peter flicked his eyes over the young woman who had come over to him. He cleared his throat thoughtfully, a little bit of embarrassment colouring his cheeks, and he wiped his cloth across the window, spreading the foam and, to his utter dismay, dragging off at least ten years' worth of preliminary dirt with it.

Curling his lip a little at the cloth, Peter dropped it back into the water with a plop and turned properly to face the girl, offering her a slightly wry smile in greeting.

"Cleaning the windows, love," he replied tartly before chuckling and adding, "I'm just trying to get this place ready for opening. I figured a little bit of light exterior refurbishment would brighten her up a bit. A lick of paint, maybe, and a little bit of fresh board here and there and then I reckon she'll be ready."

Then, despite himself, Peter couldn't help but cheekily querying: "Why d'you want to know? Fancy giving me a hand do you?"

As the man turned to face her, Angelique smoothed down her skirt, keeping it out the way of potential soap suds and incidentally accentuating her form as her hands travelled down her thighs.

"Oh, I could give you a hand," she replied, "but I don't like to involve myself with endeavours that are doomed to failure."

Her eyes flicked back to his.

"I may be pureblood but even I can see what you're doing. Though why you'd do it that way when a charm would get it done in half the time is beyond me," she said.

"I rather meant 'what are you doing trying to make The Hog's Head look respectable?' It's not like the regular clientèle are going to appreciate the changes."

He knew better but Peter's eyes did follow the path of the woman's hands. He swallowed and looked back at the windows, wondering how long it had been. He knew roughly. Well, no, he knew exactly. It was before Finley had been born - if not the point in which he was made. Then Azkaban happened and ... Merlin, it'd been years. He was pathetic. He could keep it together in front of a little slip of a woman, couldn't he? Yeah, sure.

"Oh thanks," he started in reply but when she got to the end of her sentence he faltered a bit, his eyebrows coming together in a soft frown despite the smile that still tugged at his mouth. "I think she's got a chance," he added in an undertone.

"I work better with my hands," he admitted. "And, um. Well, it makes it feel a bit more like mine. I'd just be another landlord if I threw a few charms around and pronounced her good as new."

"I want to make something for my son to have," Peter endeavoured to explain, "And it needs to be able to stay standing in order for that to happen. But, as long as they don't dislike it, if it goes unnoticed then that's fine by me. Besides, I'm sure a lady like yourself would rather something a bit cleaner than tat and dirt, eh?"

Hands back on her hips, Angelique watched his eyes slide away, trying to hide that he'd been admiring her.  Made her want to laugh, when men acted that way.  

"I'm sure you can work wonders with your hands," she agreed, moving closer to lean on the building itself.  

Oh yes, the son.  The boy who'd been playing down the street.  He was inconvenient, but for the moment, Angelique filed him under "future problems".  For the moment, she was far more preoccupied with how long it would take her to make the father blush.

"Oh, you know," she pulled a forefinger across the window, leaving a smudge in the collected dirt, "sometimes a girl likes a bit of filth."

It appeared a woman was flirting with him -- and Peter was, what, flirting back? He had no idea what he was doing in truth. Cleaning the windows: that was what he was supposed to be doing. This witch was definitely barking up the wrong tree ... or was she?

"You got no idea, love," he replied with a steady, growing smirk. So, not really the wrong tree at all.

A familiar feeling stirred within Peter at her last sentence - one that he'd not felt for a long while indeed. Fatherhood had put all kinds of relationships - carnal and meaningful - on hold. He'd not minded but it'd been a long time. He wasn't going to entertain it with this lass, though. She was all kinds of tempting bad news, he could tell.

"Still," he pursued the face level of the discussion, willing his mind to stay out of the gutter. "I want this place presentable. It's played second string to the Three Broomsticks for long enough." Plus, he was in trouble if it didn't get off the ground. "So, if you can offer any tips, love, then I'd welcome them. You seem to know the pub well."

"No?" Angelique's head tilted enquiringly.  "Really? P'haps you should teach me."

"And I could teach you, by the look of things.  The Head doesn't play second fiddle to anything.  It just has a different crowd."


"People come to the Hog's Head to drown their sorrows.  It's ever so difficult to drink one's-self into a stupor if everyone around is celebrating quidditch or singing folk songs or whatever else they do down at the Broomsticks."


She was emboldened enough to broach the space between them now, cupping his chin in her hand.  


"Did you do any research at all before you bought it?" she asked with a sympathetic smile.

“I could do that,” the words lifted suggestively into the air before Peter had the chance to stop them. They were accompanied by a wry sort of smile that reached up and communicated the innuendo through his eyes.

“Maybe we should find a time to redress these issues,” he raised a cheeky brow at her and smiled before glancing at the building, considering it thoughtfully. Research. Well, he’d done plenty at the bar. He didn’t think he’d done any there that really counted, mind you.

He felt her fingers close around his face and his cocky little smirk disappeared somewhat. He swallowed, his throat suddenly going dry.

“I suppose there’s still time to do some,” he murmured. “Or do you think I’m a lost cause?”

(OOC: I'm glad to finally get back to this thread now exams are over! )

Oh, that was so cute.

Despite all evidence to the contrary (or maybe it was just because she was a narcissist), Angelique knew she was irresistible.  However, she rarely met anyone who could keep up with her games.  All of a sudden, her interest in the pub owner sharpened.

She moved until they stood only inches apart, hand moving from his jaw, down his neck to rest on his shoulder as she did so.

Her head tilted at his words, a mischievous smile gracing her lips.

"You're the furthest thing from a lost cause I've met in ages," she breathed.

"I trust you have the rope from those barrels tucked away safely?  The kind of research I'm thinking of is going to take all afternoon."