Edward Pratt was bored. The kids were with their mother and his girlfriend had left to tend to a sickly parent in France. They’d decided to finish it and now Eddie had been reintroduced to how much free time a single man could have when his kids weren’t about. Before he’d procured the hot French witch Eddie had been overworking and over drinking, washing away the woes of divorce. She’d changed that and given his life more purpose, direction. Now she’d gone back to live with the frogs and he was returning to his old ways. Two attractive women had already shared his bed this week and tonight he would certainly not refuse a third. He didn't want to wake up on the 14th of February with an empty bed after all.

Having tried the muggle women around the time of his divorce and found them dull and too curious, Eddie decided to stick to his own kind and sit in wizarding bars. This obviously meant more people knew him thanks to his career, photographs and articles[1] about him in the press. This meant that people knew about his divorce, his children and his recent appreciation of hats. Viv hadn’t seemed to mind the kids. Yet she hadn’t stuck around for long and she’d had a bit problem with his job. Even the robes had bothered her. It would have been nice, just for a once, to have a witch not complain that he was an auror!

So it was fairly late in the evening when Eddie walked into the leaky cauldron and took a barstool in the centre of the bar. He ordered a drink and turned his head to the side where a witch sat a few spaces away.
“And whatever the lass is ‘avin.”

1.	Witch weekly's valentine's edition as an example

Even the most hardcore Ministry employees tended to stay away from the office on Sundays. Rosier officially crossed that line then, but not because he was more busy than usual, but because of the situation that awaited at home. He could not look at this nephew Rascal after the fiasco he prepared in his house the other week, so he avoided the git like the plague. After that and after the second trip to Morocco, Rosier was becoming more and more hermit-like again. Shutting himself in his office when everyone else was gone and obsessing over things. However, he could recognize the pattern this time and promised himself he will calm down - nothing good came out of his insane episode last time around. It was Sunday after all, and he needed a break.

His favorite spot in Diagon Alley, like with most Ministry folk was The Leaky Cauldron. Rosier was a very traditional wizard, so he naturally liked all things which felt old-school or which reminded him of the past. This famous pub was one of those places. He entered, closing the wooden door behind him as quietly as possible as if not to get anyone's attention. His black cloak hovering behind him, he unintentionally resembled a large, grumpy-looking bat. It only took him a moment to spot a familiar face at the bar. It was strange how seeing Edward Pratt so sullen and moody instantly lifted Rosier's spirits. Maybe it was a bit...mean, but he really couldn't help it.

He approached his stubborn colleague and tapped his shoulder. "Ah, Pratt! Drinking alone - not something I'd recommend," he said loudly, finding himself a seat next to the Auror. The two of them had their differences in the past (well, that was an understatement), but Rosier was confident they came a long way from there. "Been a while Pratt, how is the lovely wife, children?" he asked automatically in a rather ignorant and insensitive way, not remembering that Pratt was in fact divorced (something Rosier kept forgetting) and that he probably had better reasons for drinking alone on a Sunday night than Rosier.

There were few things Lala hated more than Valentine's Day - all dem couples, and the fluff and the mushyness and the cuddly and—Blargh! Just a few moments ago she'd passed a young couple declaring their undying love for each other and Lala might've just thrown up in her mouth a little. Just a little bit.  Obviously, for the most part, all of her friends were involved in serious relationships... So Lala thought they were all dead inside. Which is why she was currently seating alone at the bar of the Cauldron of all places—you know... The place where fun and youth came to die. Initially she'd wanted to dress up, go clubbing, maybe get some action going, but then again, her current state of mind had thought such plans above her current level of damns to give.

And so, dressed in some emo-indie-dumster chic thing, she was getting drunk. Alone. At the Cauldron. Nobody could beat this level of pathetic. Nobo—Well, perhaps this dude could... Layla slowly, ever so slowly turned her head to watch the creature that actually used that as a pick-up line in this day and age, with a face torn between complete disbelief and outright irritation. She simply glared at him for a moment, and just as she was opening her mouth, some other dude came out of bloody nowhere and just started talking. Rude. She closed her mouth, huffing quietly until the guy was finished... But then she actually heard children and wife and, holy mother of cows, Lala was exactly 500% done with this.

Still glaring at the—she supposed she could call him Mister Scumbag for now, because, really? Kids and wife? This crap was bananas... "If this uncomfortable exchange we're having is you trying to flirt with me, I suggest you stop it before someone gets hurt" she dead-panned at the guy, hair flashing a bright red before settling back into its chosen blonde-blue ombre. She spared the other guy a look, just as vicious, and turned back to her glass, throwing it back in one swift move before ordering another Screwdriver.

The voice was disturbingly familiar. Eddie stiffened as he debated making a quick exit and avoiding his former boss’s boss. But it was too late. Cameron Rosier was taking an unwelcome perch beside the auror and Eddie was being glared at from the witch he’d just offered a drink to. Sure she was dressed like it was Halloween but he’d been lonely. Now he wished he hadn’t bothered to come out as he tried avoiding the glare of the witch and Rosier asked a question that proved what an obnoxious idiot the wizard was.

“How’s the burnt house?” Eddie responded to his former superior with a deadpan expression. But now the witch was threatening him for attempting to flirt with her and Eddie waved goodbye to the night he’d planned. He offered a scowl in Rosier’s direction before leaning forwards to look at the witch.

“I ‘ent married, lass.” He stated before his bright green eyes travelled her body and his brows creased to a frown. “Although I wouldn’t really flirt with someone that can’t afford new… lady socks.” He had no idea what women insisted on calling that pointless material they wore in place of regular sensible trousers. “Now this wizard,” Ed slapped a hand on Rosier’s shoulder. “He likes holey lady socks. If yer lucky he may even marry and divorce ye! Don’t that sound fun?”

Perhaps Eddie had already drunk a bit too much? Or was he over tired?

Rosier ignored the rude remark about the unfortunate events which occurred in his house last May. There was no use wasting time bickering about his burned garden. The unpleasant frown on his face however morphed into a smirk as the young lady joined their conversation. Poor Pratt - was the oaf trying to charm her moments before he came strolling in? Whatever it was, it was amusing to watch Pratt's mood go from terrible to epically horrid. Was insulting the girl's stockings really necessary? Some witches preferred the modern fashion, even if it was a bit...odd. But what would Pratt know about fashion! He couldn't even find matching socks for his Auror robes, for Merlin's sake.

 "Now, now Pratt," he said calmly as the wizard started the obligatory rant about Rosier's failed marriages. Maybe Pratt should resign at the Ministry again and seek a new career at the Witch Weekly - he would have so much material for them. He almost chuckled at the thought. "Let's not bore the young lady with the sordid details of my life. No one wants to hear that, even if it does involve holey stockings...Yes, Pratt - they are called stockings" He sighed, lighting a cigarette in the most casual, Rosier-like fashion. Despite all the alcoholic drinks around him, he felt perfectly normal with a dainty porcelain cup of tea in front of him.

He looked at the girl. "I trust you don't wish to hurt my colleague any longer, but in case you do, I'm not going to object," he smirked, thinking this wasn't going to be a terrible evening after all.