Gamon & Rosie. - Blog Posts

The best thing about not playing professional quidditch anymore was not having a diet. If he wanted to drink three crunchy chocolate milkshakes in a row, he could. Well, the stomach ache later wasn't anything pleasant, but that's a problem for future Gamon!

"Oh, Rosie. You're the best fucking astrologist ever. Maybe this muggle lady has a good intuition or something." He shrugged, always keeping the smile in his face. He loved his friend so much, Gamon would always be grateful for her place in his life. "Capricorns are the bitchy ones right? The ones who love money. Fuck rich people, they all suck ass." He rolled his eyes, putting his boots on the spare chair near them.

where: florean fortescue's ice cream parlour, diagon alley when: early afternoon with: open!

Since it's the off-season, Mister Fortescue has kindly allowed Primrose the use of his outdoor tables, over which she's spread no less than ten muggle periodicals, with the morning's Prophet laid out in the centre. It's become a ritual of hers, to consult the magazines she grew up with now and then, to see how often there's overlap between her astrological predictions as a bona fide witch, and theirs, when they're ostensibly just guessing.

Tracing a lilac fingernail over the horoscope she'd drawn up for Capricorn today, she hums thoughtfully to herself as she ascertains similarities between it and the one written by Olivia Blake of Woman's Weekly. "Would ye look at that," she says, her tone full of admiration, "I think some muggles must be sensitive to ambient magic, like - this lady's matched predictions wi mine three times in the last two months, and it's always Capricorn. Must be somebody important to her..."