Tea and Books [Open]

Saturdays were always a busy night at the Starlight where Dora worked as a bartender. Once a month she got a weekend off, a bit of favoritism from her bestie, Fin, who happened to own the speakeasy where she worked and had given her the job without question. It wasn’t total nepotism; Dora had been mixing drinks since she was nine, first for her parents and eventually for herself. She made a mean cocktail, no one could deny that. She was good at her job, even if she didn’t particularly enjoy it. She had never thought her life would come to serving drunk and sweaty pub goers for tips and the off-chance of getting a decent bloke’s name. She was raised to be a socialite, despite her family never really having the money, but after her father’s death there was even less money and Dora had been cast out at the sake of her own mother’s self-preservation. Thank the gods for Fin. He took her in, gave her a job, and most importantly he never made her feel looked down upon even in her darkest moments. She couldn’t very well complain to him about being ‘working class’ when he was the one keeping her employed.

If only today had been one of those weekends off, Dora would be at home getting ready for her own evening out instead of taking it easy for the day so she had stamina enough to make it through her shift. She liked sleeping in when she could, but there was a vast difference between sleeping in and being a lazy arse. Up, showered, fed, and off for a day of leisurely shopping with money she didn’t really have to spare. She was wretched at maintaining a budget but she was learning to get by. She found one didn’t need to purchase every single thing they fancied, and some of the time she even got away with finding something similar on sale. Bookshops were exceptionally budget-friendly, as she could order a tea in the lounge and sit, reading a book she couldn’t afford without having to be seen at the public library like a street urchin looking to come in from the cold.

Bending down to scan the titles on the lower shelves, Dora’s green eyes moved from book to book, looking for something to pique her interest. There were plenty of adult novels for her to read at home, and she knew better than to peruse books on dark arts in public. The Dark Lord was rising in power by the minute but he was still considered dangerous to the Ministry and his supporters were both feared and hated. Dora didn’t need that sort of attention, despite her affinity for attention of most any other sort. She was in the non-fiction section but as nothing was catching her eye she began to wonder if she shouldn’t look at literature instead.

Rising from her position near the floor, Dora stood to her full height of 5’3” (with an added five inches thanks to her heels) and turned, intent on crossing the shop to look elsewhere for the day’s entertainment. Instead, she came face to face with a pasty redhead, very nearly colliding with her. “Watch it, Red,” Dora said with a shake of her head. “You’re not the only one in the shop today, you know.” The girl looked familiar and Dora was fairly certain they’d gone to school together though she couldn’t quite put her finger on a name, so she was either not in the same house as Dora or she just wasn’t important enough to remember properly.

The giantess snapped at her and came back with what she clearly thought to be a very clever retort. Dora was unimpressed. You didn’t just get to trample through the aisles dressed like some primary school superintendent running late to a meeting with the parents association and knock about the attractive people of the world because the gods cursed you with fire crotch. Clearly this witch wasn’t very bright, though she didn’t look exactly poor she clearly didn’t have the sense of fashion Dora had. No one had Dora’s sense of fashion; she was the epitome of a fashionista, and having little money to spare hadn’t hampered her in the slightest. Anything that was no longer in fashion was repurposed into something new. Dora had begun working on her sewing charms back in school, after her father passed and the family had first been placed on a budget. She didn’t like repeating outfits very often, and while she could usually get away with dressing up a skirt with a different blouse or pairing styles with different accessories, those sorts of tricks only took you so far in high society. Dora had to get creative and being a whiz with charms she quickly learned how to pull stitches and alter garments without completely making a mess of things. The redhead looming in front of her like some humongous tree could have used with a few sewing lessons, but really Dora just wanted to burn than coat.

“Perhaps I should call you 'Glasses' instead, since you clearly need them. It’s black,” she said, sweeping her hair off her face and patting the curls back into place, “not brown.” Brunettes were so common, Dora was glad to be set apart from them naturally. Her mother also had jet black hair, but the Parkinson men, they were brunettes all the way. Her brother Theon had had a mousy sort of brown hair, but he had styled it properly and dressed well enough that he stood out from the rest of the boys his age. Her father had a lovely dark chestnut color, it had been flecked with grey around the ears and Dora remembered vividly thinking how handsome he was drinking his brandy and talking business of which Dora didn’t understand a single word. How dare this witch bring up thoughts of her daddy when she was still trying to get over his death!

Dora placed her hands on her hips, shifting her weight to one leg as she glared at the woman who refused to get out of the way. The redhead was completely blocking the aisle. What a cow! “Is there a reason you’re still standing here? Aren’t the other quidditch mums going to be missing you at the bake sale?” All Dora had wanted was to find a new book to read at the shop lounge and lose herself in a story for a bit before the shopkeeper caught on that she wasn’t planning on making a purchase today and shooed her from the shop. She hadn’t expected to be run over by an Amazonian redhead with poor fashion sense and even poorer manners.

Green eyes widening with outrage. Dora’s mouth dropped open ever so slightly. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Hair dye? Hair dye! This redheaded trollop was accusing Dora of dying her gorgeous black locks?! If they were anywhere less public Dora would have grabbed the stupid witch by her own horrid hair and thrown her to floor, letting the pointed heel of her stilettos do a little damage to that impossibly pink skin of hers. It was as if Red had dived head first into a swimming pool of rouge, not realizing that a little makeup went a long way. Or maybe all the pink in her face was the remnants of poorly concealed pimples. Since she couldn’t figure out a simplistic act like moving her fat arse over so others could use the aisle, she probably didn’t know the first thing about using vanity charms. Whatever the case, a few shoe-shaped holes in her forehead ought to do the trick, Dora thought.

Controlling her emotions had never been Dora’s strong suit. In school she had received plenty of detentions, mostly for getting caught with boys in the broom cupboards but a good handful of times were because of fighting. She didn’t always get into a row to defend herself, mostly it was to defend the honor of one of her friends. Dora did not like to admit to her emotions, but they overwhelmed her all the same; she wore her heart on her sleeve and Merlin help the poor, dumb twat who insulted her friends’ honor. Age seemed to help a bit, in regard to self-control, as Dora had not yet grabbed the redhead by her stringy hair and instead she balled up her fists in an attempt to keep her from scratching the witch’s eyes out. Dora simply stood there for a moment, glaring at woman, her eyes narrowing as she sized up whether or not it would be beneficial to beat this tramp into the group. She was certainly maturing to at least consider it beforehand.

The insult seemed to fly over the woman’s head, which was humorous enough in and of itself that Dora would be laughing during her retelling of this little adventure when she saw Fin at the Starlight later that night. Damn, she had work later. She couldn’t risk showing up with any scratches on her face or clumps of hair missing from her head because of the looming cat fight. Dora used her pretty face and charming smile to woo the patrons into leaving larger tips, or to pull the more attractive ones into the storage room on her break for a little extra attention. Another reason to not swing this woman by ugly red hair. Damn this maturity! “Not a mum? Really, with those thighs? You have the baring of a weathered mum, has anyone told you that? And the atrocious style to match,” she added with a sneer, looking up and down the boring tan coat that looked like it had come from a second-hand shop after someone with a bit more money and taste decided it wasn’t worth even taking the tags off before throwing it the bin.

“Parkinson, right?” So she had been right to think that she knew this bloke, though exactly how she knew him was yet to be seen. The light seemed to absorb into his messy brown hair and she could see her reflection in the lenses of his glasses. The redhead said his name and Merlin’s beard that rang some bells, too. She must have gone to school with them, though clearly, they were not in her house or she’d have remembered them by now. Poor sense of fashion. Quick to jump in without knowing what was happening. Obviously more than a little daft, as the cow only had to move a step to the left or to the right to open up the aisle so Dora could leave, which was all she wanted to do in the beginning. These two screamed Gryffindors.

While at school, just as she did now, Dora didn’t take much stock in house rivalries. She wasn’t interested in quidditch, which she believed fueled a lot of the silly rivalries around the school, and she wasn’t snobbish enough to refuse to make friends with people from other houses if they appealed to her in some way or another. There were plenty of people she had liked in Hufflepuff, not that she stayed in touch with many of them these days what with being an adult with responsibilities and whatnot. Ravenclaw blokes were always incredibly smart and more than willing to “study” with her in the library which she ignorantly confused for legitimate affection. She even had a few friends in Gryffindor, too, though there were certainly a fair few that were as annoyingly self-righteous as the pair standing in front of her. There really wasn’t a reason to dislike anyone simply because of the house the sorting hat had placed them in when they were eleven, but more often than not it was easy to tell by someone’s personality which house they had been in. Several years out of school and she still found herself thinking in terms of Hogwarts houses. Indoctrination at its finest.

James, clearly too dim to think up his own insult in defense of his girlfriend, regurgitated Dora’s previous remark back at her. The smug look on his face told Dora that he thought he had been clever. Dora gave a false laugh, finally recognizing the big-headed wannabe hero and the smart-mouthed redhead. “Oh, I know you. You’re the one Severus used to complain about,” she said to Lily. “The frigid bitch, how could I forget? And that makes you…” Dora turned her attention back to James, “that James bloke I screwed in the Charms classroom after curfew.” She smirked at them both and not really caring what lame-arsed comebacks they were trying to come up with. “Lovely catching up," she said, her words dripping with sarcasm. "Now, if you’ll excuse me I really would love to be on my way and the only thing stopping my is your fat arse blocking the aisle.” She made a shooing gesture with her hand towards Lily, attempting yet again to get the redhead to step aside.