Thursday, March 4
8pm, Hogsmeade High Street

Niobe was looking deadly in her favorite Darian Morgan jacket.  It had cost her an arm and a leg, but she wore it when she needed to look particularly badass.  Too bad it had all been a total wash!  The contact she was supposed to corner in the Hogs Head and hound until they coughed up a detail she needed for the Daily Prophet had poofed the moment he saw her be-dreadlock'd head! 

"Coward..." she hissed to herself, as she tramped down the cold cobblestone street.  Hogsmeade was still bustling and busy this time of night, in a quaint village-y sort of way.  She flipped through her little notebook and tried to come up with a plan of what to do next.

She'd been scrimping to make up for lost time and lost reputation with her editor, Baranabas Cuffe.  Since her arrest last Halloween she'd had to crawl her way back from humiliation back into his good graces.  She'd nearly gone to prison, let alone almost been fired!  And so Cuffe was punishing her with dead-end leads and silly life and culture drivel.  Any good stories she managed to piece together were by sheer will alone!

Niobe Ninefingers was just thinking how much she needed a drink when fate obliged.

Milo took some sparing time away from Hogwarts for the night, and what better place than Hogsmeade was there to spend the night? Besides, she was hoping to make more friends in the area. It was a big move and it couldn't hurt to befriend someone that wasn't one of her co-workers!

Typical of Milo, she found herself heading towards The Three Broomsticks. However, on her walk there, the back of a woman's jacket caught her gaze. Something about the design was immensely pleasing to her eyes. Swoon! That was all it took for Milo to head over to talk to her. She was beginning to wish that she dressed up more for her night at the town, but it was too late for that. She was just going to have to deal with her simple outfit.

"Hey!" She approached Niobe. "Wait a second- I remember you from somewhere!" This was not, in fact, a bad attempt at starting a pickup line, but a true realization. "Weren't you asking about the winery some time ago? Well- who cares about that! I got a job around here not too long ago, so maybe I'll be seeing more of you!"

A short black bob had popped into view and before she could brush it off, a vaguely-familiar witch had begun an acquaintance.  Niobe Thursby was a witch who kept her guard up and so her first reaction was to curl her lip and keep a bit of distance.  But wait. She was familiar.

The young witch from the winery.  Niobe's expression softened as she folded her arms across her chest to have a look at the pretty Scottish witch who was harassing her.  "Yea, I remember you," she said, still not totally giving into this conversation. 

"You're..." Niobe held up a finger to stop the other woman from supplying her name too quickly.  Niobe liked to think she had a gift for names.  She recalled the life-and-times piece about muggle wineries and how they went about doing it all without magic.  It wasn't news, but she had to remember the young witch daughter who'd been their lead in...

"You're Milo!"  The name had struck her odd then, and there'd been association with a favorite childhood book, the Phantom Tollbooth.  Niobe grinned.  She'd got it right, she knew it.

"Milo Monroe.  Niobe Thursby."  As Niobe did, she said her name as if she expected that most people had heard of her. 

So far, so good! Not an entirely successful conversation start, but good enough to get the job done, Milo hoped. For her, it was always preferrable to either drag a friend with her or make one on the way if she was going out for the night. She supposed that if the conversation did end in failure, she would be going solo for the night.

"You got it!" She gleamed with pride. If anything, she could pride herself on being memorable. "Yes, yes, of course. Niobe, the reporter!" Milo decided to neglect the mention that her name had slipped her mind until then. Her face and the stories she had heard of her had not.
"Have you gotten to do any big stories since I saw you last? I've certainly heard a few good stories of yours since then."

She came on strong.  And maybe that was just what Niobe's Grump needed at the moment.  A pretty young friend to drain a few glasses with.  She could absolutely use the cheering up. But the chattering questions and their answers were not fit for cobbled streets.

"Let's us get a drink..." she suggested, deflecting the question for the time being.  She was not too keen to discuss her recent history, at least not until she was more lubricated. Niobe Thursby led the way across the street into the warm and bustling Three Broomsticks.  It was still early enough that even on a weekday it was teeming with merry-makers.  There were two seats at the end of the bar, and Niobe took one, leaving the other for Milo.

"Midas Whale,"[1] was her order.  They had it on tap and soon it was served to her in a fat, faceted pint class with a handle. 

She held it up to toast her new companion before taking a drink.  Then, and only then, did she feel ready to engage in conversation.

"February was good to me," she admitted without a trace of humility, for that had never been her strong suit.  "I got myself on the Kingstreet story and the latest werewolf problem.  No thanks to my editor.  He claims to hate me, but can't get enough," she grinned. 

Barnabas Cuffe didn't seem to know what to do with her or how to manage without her.  He'd nearly fired her after her public arrest and humiliation, but her reporting was too hot to throw out the window like that.  Or at laest that was the narrative in Niobe's head.

1.	From a brewery near Inverness.  A rich belgian-style wheat beer.