smelly, sneaky thief.

i don’t do anything with my life except romanticize and decay with indecision. MUNDUNGUS FLETCHER. twenty seven. he/they. former ravenclaw. criminally inclined. order member. stray cat supporter. technically i'm homeless. wanna make a deal?

[mundungsx]

antonin.

At first, Antonin had thought the man was looking for a fight only because of the alcohol. But with the way he responded to his force made him feel like it wasn’t just the alcohol talking anymore. 

Part of Antonin wanted to step back. It didn’t feel like a fair fight, with the other man as drunk as he was. But the man was asking for it and Antonin wasn’t enough of a martyr to deny him that. As Antonin was pushed back, he recoiled from the force and grinned. “Fine, you bloody asked for it.” He wound back for a punch and landed his fist square in the other man’s face. It wasn’t the first time Antonin had punched someone and he didn’t think it would be his last.

There’s a crack, and Mundungus staggers back, and he’s laughing. He reaches his hand to his nose, sees blood on his fingertips and something reckless courses through him, something desperate. It’s that same something that causes him to drink too much, smoke too much, take too much.

He thinks of his father too, for a moment. And then he turns to face the other again, wiping at his nose. “Ye got a good right hook,” he says, and part of him is daring the other to go on, another part is hardly there any more, ready to go on, find a new distraction.

[mundungsx]

dorcas​.

Dorcas just smiled at him. She really had no idea how this was going to go. She knew not to really take it as a good thing that he was staying. He could be staying because he felt he needed too. Or, was just waiting to run. Dorcas wasn’t letting herself build her hopes up. She knew she had no reason to moan about getting hurt, but she was worried about getting hurt. She and Dung had such a bad habit of hurting each other. The last thing she wanted to do was hurt him, but she really did not want to get hurt either.

“Yeah….” She murmured, picking up her coffee, and heading out of her kitchen and over to the lounge. She wanted to be comfortable for this chat. She had no idea how it was going to go. But, they did need to talk about last night. They needed to clear the air, even if it didn’t work out the way she was hoping. But Dorcas was just hoping, just a little bit, that it would work out in a positive way. Mundungus made her happy, and she just wanted them both of be happy.

She sat down, and sighed, biting her lip. She was thinking carefully about what seh was saying. She wanted to be careful. Their was so much emotion between them, and she didn’t want to ruin anything. “I never want to pretend anything with you Mundungus…..” She murmured quietly, looking up at him. She was quiet for a few more moments. “Do you….. wanna pretend it didn’t happen?”

He downs the glass of water, ignores how it swirls sickeningly in his stomach, ignores how the hangover presses down on his head. Mundungus tries to focus on Dorcas, and not just on how pretty she dares to look still, despite their long night, and how it had felt like home, in her arms, if only for a moment. 

He’s not one to think about the future, in all truth. Partly because he simply doesn’t expect that he’ll live long enough to see it –– he can see his dead in front of him, on bad days. A bottle in his hand and no one to save him, no Athena Wood around this time to rush him to the hospital. And then there’s the war, too, of course, the threat of death hanging above his and all his fellow Order member’s head like an unwavering hammer. Mundungus doesn’t think about the future, because it’s scary to commit, easier to say oh, well, what’s the use when I’m bound to be dead before thirty? than work for a life worth living.

Dorcas might be, though. “Nah. I don’t think I fuckin’ can, Dor.” He rubs at his temples. “Been shit enough, these past years. Pretending you didn’t break my heart.” He doesn’t mean it to sound like an accusation, especially because he knows he’s hurt the other plenty, too. “Sorry. I dunno, there’s clearly something happening here.” Mundungus bites his tongue, sighs a little. He wants to tell her that there’s still something there, at least from his side, but he’s always been a coward. “Can’t ignore it.”

[mundungsx]

walden.

Walden considered his options very carefully as Mundungus listed them off one by one. He still had some weed at home so that didn’t sound particularly exciting. Muggle coke just flat out sounded awful. Who knows what kinds of horrendous things desperate muggles put in those? LSDs were a no-go. Those will have to be reserved for a different day.  In a different kind of occasion. The mention of little tablets, however, piqued his interest.

“Tell me more about those little tablets of yours,” Walden asked as he crossed his arms and leaned on the nearest wall. “Ecstacy?” He’s had a couple of those before, and it has always been a fun time with them. So why the hell not? “Anything that could get me… you know…” Walden leaned in and gave Mundungus a meaningful look. “Excited?”

It’s strange, not to be taking part in the festivities. The drug-related ones, that is, of course –– for Dorcas’ sake, Mundungus is trying to stay at least something close to sober. Mildly inebriated, healthily tipsy. Not because he thinks she dislikes him when he’s off his rocker – they have had plenty of good times with both of them completely drunk – but because he wants to prove something to her. It feels silly, if he thinks of it too much, and so he doesn’t. 

“Molly, yeah. Or something similar, that is. Wizarding equivalent,” he says, nodding. He digs around in his pockets for a moment, producing a small baggie holding a few brightly coloured tablets. “They’ll do the trick, I’m sure.” Dung flashes Walden a grin, wiggling the bag in front of his eyes. He does like doing business, even when he’s technically off. “So, how many?”

[mundungsx]

minerva.

“Mister Fletcher.” Minerva acknowledged him with a nod and a tight-lipped smile, looking him up and down. Mundungus had been in her detentions innumerous times over his education, which seemed as though it only ended yesterday, but surely must have been a decade by now. She remembered very fondly how she caught him stealing one of her cat-shaped figurines off of her desk during one detention and having it returned to her by owl shortly after. 

“When I was younger, maybe.” The professor joked light-heartedly. “My bark is much worse now. Have you been well, dear?”

He chuckles. “I sure do remember you barking at me a few times, back when.” For good reason, probably. Mundungus’ memory is a hazy mess of blurriness, and he’s not sure which professor has caught him in which act. McGonagall was always fair, though, though a bit too sharp for Mundungus’ likes. He’d preferred Slughorn, so damn clueless. 

“Ah, y’know me, never a boring day. World’s a mess, I’m a mess ... but am doing well, yeah.” He’s not sure if it’s a truth or a lie, but hardly cares. To understand how his mind works and how it’s doing is something he’s still not quite managed. “And you? How’re the kids? Any less annoying?”

[mundungsx]

edgar.

Seeing Dung always made Edgar’s day, although he knew the other wix was plastered at the sight of them. Edgar wondered, quietly, if Dung were okay, but instead of asking he just ordered more wine for himself, and some whiskey for Dung. “Good on you mate,” he said, with a shake of his head. “I can have one glass of rum before I feel like I’m going to fall off my chair and run to Spain.” He always seemed to run to Spain when he felt lost; as if somehow that meant Alvaro might be waiting for him there.

Still, at the thought of him, Edgar found himself bringing his glass of wine to his lips. “Now, wine, shitty as it might be, keeps me a bit more alert,” he said. “I could practically run a marathon right now, y’know? Not that I will, ever. Even sober. Godric, I hate running.” He was laughing at his own rambles, and he hoped that it helped get Dung’s mind off of whatever it was they were thinking about. Leaning forward, Edgar rested his chin in the palm of his hand. “Good to see ya though, mate,” he said. “What brings you to the Cackling Stump?”

Mundungus raises his eyebrows at that, hardly able to believe it. Not the running away to Spain bit, that he can easily imagine ––– but that happening after only having one drink. There must have been a time, once, where he was a lightweight. He just doesn’t remember it. “Spain’s nice, though. Good for wine too, isn’t it?” He chuckles. Sometimes he considers leaving everything behind and going abroad, where the war hasn’t tainted life as much yet. But he stays.

He chuckles. “If ye wanna be alert, there are other beverages, mate. Coffee, for one. Just a cuppa tea also does wonders.” Mundungus is glad for the small talk, and laughs a little louder, then. “I only like running when it’s the thing keepin’ me alive,” he jokes, though it’s hardly untrue. “People who do it for fun? Monsters, truly.” He flashes Edgar a grin. “Likewise. And ah, y’know ... business, pleasure ––– mostly pleasure. And you?” 

[mundungsx]

artemis​.

“It would probably be safest, too, as it’s not for me. I don’t want to get something different and him not take to it well. Sure. Magical strain of weed it is.” She dipped her hand into her pocket for a handful of coins. “I suppose there are,” she said, and truthfully that was why it hadn’t worried her before to walk through this way. There had long been the knowledge that people around could be dangerous. “I think that’s what a murderer would say, too, but you don’t look like the one who was in the paper. He’s unhinged one of my colleagues said. Scary don’t you think? But it’s all a bit dramatic. I bet you get to hear a lot about it round here…” She wasn’t completely sure what type of information she was looking for but she hoped she could get a bit of gossip.

He nods, starts digging in his coat pocket. It’s clearly time to reorganise the enlarged things, and he spends quite some time looking for his stash. ( It doesn’t help that his fingers shake, a little. ) “Rotten world we live in, eh?”, Dung says, looking up for a moment, before wrapping his hands around a velvet sack. He pulls it out, then pulls out a small plastic baggy of the right strain. “Buchanan, ye mean? Yeah, the two of us are hardly twins.” He chuckles a little. “I try no to worry ‘bout it too much. If I start worrying ‘bout all the shitty people that walk around this earth, ye know, I might as well stay in. So a bit dramatic indeed.” Mundungus is surprised by his honesty, but he hardly thinks it hurts. He extends his hand with the weed. “The paper’s always a bit dramatic, I’ve found. They love their exclamation marks and flowery words at the Prophet.”

[mundungsx]

bilius​.

Bilius actually laughed when Mundungus actually admitted that he was thinking of taking the cup. Not to mention that he told him why he was so interested in the object right after he said that he wasn’t going to. No wonder some people didn’t trust him in the Order. “Yeah, I’m still not feeling the urge to take it, mate. Maybe that’s just you.”

The taller wizard crossed his arms in front of Mundungus but his lips were smiling wide. “That’s one way to pass the time in this manor. You sure find the oddest ways to amuse yourself.” Although Bilius was quite certain that his amusement comes from the interactions he gets whenever people ask what it is exactly he was up to. “And those other things? Are they anything like that one?” Which was to say, did Mundungus already take something else from the house?

Mundungus pulls a face, feigning offense. “Rude. I can’t help it that all of you don’t have entrepreneurial minds.” He slips the cup in his pocket, hardly ashamed of his actions. Bilius’ words do trigger something, somewhere, that awareness that any chance he may have had to leave a more honest life, he ruined himself. He winks. “But that’s a good thing. Less competition.”

He lets out a laugh, then. “I’ll take that as a compliment. I mean, ‘tis quite a skill. And these days, I’ll take any amusement I can get.” He could, after all, also spend this party getting angry at the sheer fucked-up-ness of people living in houses this big while other starved, or bitter over the empty political gesture this all was. It’s a good thing he’s in a partying mood, and not feeling particularly anarchistic today. “Why do I have a feeling yer interrogating me, mate? Not gonna sell me out to old Moody, are ye?”

[mundungsx]

athena.

Out of all of the things to ever come out of Mundungus’ mouth, Athena would have never expected to be talking about charging for rest room use with them. The way they both could change their expressions so easily from serious to joking was one of the things she liked most about their interactions. He always kept her on her toes. “So immoral. Especially if you really had to go, and someone just stole your wallet. That would suck,” he laughed, shaking her head.

Athena followed behind Mundungus,, her eyes scanning all around as they walked by. “Something freaky like… scary, or something freaky?” She asked, wriggling her brows at him with a chuckle. “More now. Fancy parties aren’t really my thing, but, I can get behind this.” They passed by a door with an eccentric looking handle, Athena stopping in her tracks and gesturing. “Shall we try?”

Mundungus laughs at that. “Athena, listen, let me give you some real solid advice, completely for free,” he begins. “If someone ever steals your wallet, and that’s what keeps you from going to the bathroom –– just steal someone else’s wallet. That, I think, is what the circle of life is all about.” He’s glad for Athena, as he’s quite sure that most of the attendees tonight could not appreciate his ridiculous ramblings. Especially not considering the references to his less-than-legal activities.

He snorts. “Why not both? But I meant more like a closet full of actual skeletons, though I don’t doubt that Slughorn might secretly be extremely freaky in bed, too.” He laughs. Rich people have strange interests more often than not, he’s found: they need something to do with all their money, after all. “You know, this might surprise ye, but they’re not really my thing either.” He eyes the door for a moment, and nods. “Let’s go.”

[mundungsx]

mundungus + text posts.

[mundungsx]

amos.

Amos highly doubted that Mundungus would pay for breakfast, but he has been on the receiving end of one of his gifts before. He doesn’t really know what to do with them though. He gave him an incredulous look. “As if I’d charge you for a meal in my flat, mate. If mum hears about that, it would be my ears she’ll box.” One of the traits that Bethesda ingrained in Amos early on was hospitality. If you can’t provide for your guest, then it’s much better to not accommodate them at all. And Amos should always be ready to accommodate guests. Amos almost laughed at what Mundungus said. “I haven’t met someone she hasn’t managed to scare just yet.” His last words made Amos’ smile waver. He can only see his mother grow older. He had no idea if his father was still alive even. “It is, yeah,” he managed to reply. “How are yours?”

Amos playfully rolled his eyes. With Mundungus, the bar was never high. “Don’t count on it, mate.” He rubbed the other’s back as if he was comforting him. Amos followed the other wizard, amazed at how comfortable he was in the muggle side of London. “I see,” he muttered. “Are there no lights? Candles?” he asked with genuine curiosity. “So why do you sleep in them then?”

He chuckled. Sometimes the goodness of others was almost startling, like now, especially when it was shown so casually. “Then don’t berate me for enjoying yer free breakfasts. For the record, if I had a flat, I’d give ye a free breakfast too.” He had considered getting a place of his own plenty, but constantly found himself attached to his somewhat nomadic lifestyle. Able to run at any given moment. “She’s quite something.” The smile that had curled his lips at the memory of Amos’ mother disappeared as he thought of his own parents. His father, or Ciannán, as Mundungus referred to him more often than not, and the way he still hadn’t received what he still needed. Love or approval or something, something, he hardly even knew what it was these days. And his mother, a worried thing, but so bright still. “Well, me dad’s got no clue ‘bout anything that’s going on, so that’s good. Mam’s well. Bit worried, but she has the dog.”

Mundungus let out an amused chuckle. It was kind of endearing, the way Amos seemed so clueless. “There’s lights in the trains, but they ride to dark tunnels. So there’s nothing to see through the windows, unless yer at a station.” And then, a louder laugh. “ ‘Cause I make bad decisions, Amos, and sometimes when yer drunk, a metro seat is as good as it gets.” He gestured to a set of stairs leading underground. “Down we go.”

[mundungsx]

alastor​.

“Okay, I’ll give you that.” Mundungus was one of those people where Moody needed to keep his emotions in check. If he ever picked up on how annoyed Moody was sometimes, he’d use it to his advantage. And all in all, Moody liked Mundungus and definitely trusted him more than other people he knew. He rolled his eyes at his wink, but didn’t say another word.

Especially lately, Fletcher wasn’t the kind of criminal Moody was worried about. “I’m not answering that or you’ll use that on me,” he said lightly. He laughed at the next comment. “See, that’s a lie. You definitely don’t have a five year plan. Unless you scribbled it on a napkin just now.” He noticed a slight change in the younger man when he changed the subject. Maybe trying to talk about his date would get him to talk less. He nodded. “No, you’re right.” He glanced around at some of the couples in the room. “It hasn’t seemed to reach some people here though. I feel like I’d have to spell some of them apart.”

Mundungus sometimes despised that Moody was a man of little words, but then figured that he was the excellent person to try and fill the silences the other let fall. He, with his waterfall mouth, such a quick and annoying talker. Perhaps, in another life, they could be a wonderful duo. “A day for the history books, I think: you giving me something. Will remember this moment forever.” He placed a solemn hand on his chest.

He pretended to look disappointed, though he’d not expected differently. “I’ll get it out of you one day,” he said. “Can’t have ye putting me away now.” Mundungus laughed along with Moody, having no trouble laughing at himself. “Can’t you just let me lie a little, mate? Pretend I have something in my life in order, let me live in that fantasy ... This is supposed to be a party, not a reality check!” He was joking, of course, hardly ever serious. At Alastor’s words, he snorted. “Uncomfortable with PDA, Moods? Good to know, good to know.”

[mundungsx]

alice.

“Mmm… I suppose that is true…..” Alice mused with a little shrug. She hadn’t seen her husband be very jealous before, but she’d also not had eyes for anyone else since the moment that she had met him. So maybe Frank had had no need to be jealous. She couldn’t imagine him getting jealous though. “Am I supposed to take that as a compliment? Cause nice is a bit of a half arsed word” She mused, with a little laugh. She really did not mind though. She didn’t need compliments from him. She just laughed. “People who are stupid?” Because denying oneself greasy food was not fun, in her eyes anyway.

Alice just laughed, shaking her head. “You know I’d never mean it” She knew some of the other Order members didn’t really approve of him that much, but she really didn’t think he was that bad. And her husband trusted him, and Alice trusted Frank. Alice just raised an eyebrow at her and laughed. “Imagine the field trip Skeeter would have if she found out you occassionally live with me too”

Mundungus snorted. “Yeah, ‘t was a compliment, but yer right. Lemme put it differently then, yeah?” He thought for a moment. Nice might be a simple word, but he’d learned early on that kindness was still something not to take for granted, nor something that came easy to everyone. “Yer compassionate. Empathetic, all that jazz.” He flashed her a grin, unsure where this sincerity came from. He laughed, then. “Absolutely! Or self-hating folks, ye gotta despise yerself quite significantly if ye deny yerself such goodness.”

He highly doubted that she wouldn’t, but Mundungus found some security in the fact that none of the Order members who worked in the DMLE had arrested him yet. Moody, especially. Let them frown upon him, though: he served a purpose. He chuckled. “God, the kinda stories she could spin if she knew that. Kinda wanna see what she’d end up writing.”

[mundungsx]

minerva​.

Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop

Hogsmeade Weekend Trip

Mid Afternoon

Minerva McGonogall had many simple pleasures in life, but one of her favorits were the rare weekends that she was able to get away and host trips to Hogsmeade for the students. It got her away from work and from the castle, which was always good to reset her patience, and it was nice to see the students enjoying themselves. Aside from sentiments, Minerva loved grabbing an herbal tea from Madam Puddifoot’s shop and sitting near the front window, sometimes with a newspaper if it was juicy, otherwise with a good book. 

Often she found herself less than alone, running into graduated students or their families, old colleagues, or students that needed advice. It seemed to be the case when she felt a figure’s shadow cast over the empty chair on the other side of her small table. 

“Would you like to take a seat? I don’t bite now.”

Mundungus was supposed to be meeting someone in a shady alleyway by now, but his associate was running rather late. To escape the biting cold, he’d ended up at Madam Puddifoot’s, though not out of love for either tea or the interior design choices. It was a last resort: he was still banned from the Hog’s Head, and Rosmerta had thrown him out of her inn only days ago, and it seemed unwise to press his luck on such a busy day.

As he entered the teashop, he let his eyes glide over school-aged couples with a look of distaste. If only he was stoned, then at least he could appreciate the treats madame Puddifoot served. He was hardly aware that he was lingering in front of his old professor’s table before she addressed him, and Mundungus jumped a little. “Aye, professor,” he said, considering her off. “Might as well. Bloody packed here, innit?” He slid down across from her, perhaps amused. He’d been a rather shit student, back in his day. “Don’t bite now, y’say? So when do ye bite?”

[mundungsx]

dorcas.

There were about ten thousand thoughts going through her head, and her head was already killing her. She honestly just wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep the day away. But she knew that wouldn’t fix things. They were a mess and they had to fix things. Or at least talk about things. She didn’t know if it would help. But they really couldn’t go on like this. She sipped at her coffee, and just prayed her head would get at least a little better. She didn’t know if she could even talk serious things right now, not with her head banging.

She bit her lip, feeling disappointed when he didn’t want the coffee. Did he not want to say? She actually had half been expecting him to just walk through straight out the door. She wouldn’t have blamed him. She’d hurt him so much. But she knew it would hurt to watch him go. To watch him walk back through that door again. She was being selfish, but she really didn’t want him to go.

“Oh….” She should’ve known that he didn’t like coffee. She’d been with him for two years. But she would just blame it on the hang over. “Okay….” She murmured, finding a glass, and filling it with some water from the sink. “Here….” She murmured, biting her lip, as she held out the glass to him. One word answers weren’t good, but for once, Dorcas had no idea what to say

“Right, cheers,” he says, taking the glass of water. After sipping it, he clears his throat. The air is tense with unsaid things, and Mundungus nearly squirms where he stands at the thought of it all. When faced with the options fight or flight, he almost always chooses the latter, and while this situation isn’t life-or-death, he feels inclined to pick it again. In stead of running, he remains stagnant though. 

Dorcas makes him want to be a better person. He makes her want to be someone who might stick around, and start a conversation, and be decisive and dedicated and what she deserves. Because she deserves better, that much is clear to him. She deserves someone with consistency, someone who can love her without feeling fear, without feeling the need to run every time it gets a little serious. Someone who doesn’t think of hope or love as dreadful things, but something wonderful in stead.

He’ll try, he decides. “So, er. We should talk about last night, yeah?” He doesn’t sound wholly convinced. He drains the glass, places it on the counter, looks at Dorcas. Something in him seems to stir, unsure, petrified. What if she breaks his heart again? Says it was a mistake? Perhaps it’s better to have some control over this potential disaster, and so he adds, “Unless you just wanna pretend it didn’t happen.”

[mundungsx]

rabastan.

rabastan wasn’t sure if he had ever seen the other before- though based on the other’s rather grimy appearance, he didn’t consider it to be a tragedy. yet, despite his initial disgust- he had taken a seat next to mundungus. “i don’t blame you,” he responded, whether or not he was joking, wasn’t entirely clear. but regardless, he managed a laugh as he reached for his drink. “it was a little bumpy,” he responded with another laugh as he turned to look at his companion. “i don’t believe i caught your name,” he spoke slowly, almost as if he were hesitant to introduce himself, “i’m rabastan.”

Rabastan. His paranoid mind worked overhours, and he soon enough connected a last name to that familiar surname. Lestrange. Mundungus hid whatever discomfort he felt ( he felt plenty: he didn’t trust purebloods who came from such old families unless they had proven him there was no reason to, especially not these days ), and chuckled. “Little bumpy, eh? Doesn’t sound too bad.” The other’s cockiness was amusing, and he didn’t mind feeding his ego a little. He took a long sip from his drink, before shrugging. “Didn’t give ye it, did I?” He flashed the other a grin. “I’m Mundungus.” 

[mundungsx]

artemis​.

He seemed a bit out of it and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was high himself at the moment. But that wasn’t a bother to her. It was who he was and at least there was little doubting the quality of the dealer’s goods when he was willing to use them himself. “Not everything,” Artemis said with a laugh. That would probably lead to her getting arrested on the Muggle bus, knowing her luck. “I don’t even know. He normally goes for weed but that might just be because it’s easy to get hold of, you know? Something good for pain relief.” That tended to be the biggest motivation within the pack for turning to drugs. The monthly transformation took a major toll on their bodies and their life the rest of the time was far from one of comfort. These days, Artemis’ solution leaned more towards massage therapy than illicit substances but they all had their own ways of coping.

There was a crack a little way down the alley and while it was just somebody apparating, Artemis still looked over automatically. Her colleagues were right on one thing, at least — however comfortable she might be here, Virtue Alley was never somewhere wholly safe. It was home to people desperate enough to have nowhere else to go and desperation made people do all sorts of unimaginable things. Artemis knew she could look after herself and that her size was almost an advantage from that point of view because nobody expected a slight little thing barely over five foot and currently dressed in the very neat and polished uniform of a spa worker to be so scrappy. Still, she used the moment as an in, laughing quietly at herself and turning back to Mundungus and saying, “You know, my colleagues told me not to come by this way, given there’s a murderer on the loose.”

Mundungus considered the other’s words for a moment. “Well, weed probably is yer best bet, then. ‘specially if money’s an issue,” he said. “I’ve got a strain that’s particularly good for it, though, magically grown.” He got customers like this every now and then, who had a more detailed request, but he never asked for details. Asking questions in Knockturn or Virtue Alley was never a good idea, Dung had learned as much, and besides: he didn’t really care what people used his drugs for, as long as he got paid. The idea that it helped some, though, was kind of pleasing. “You could also go for some opioids, I guess. Don’t have any on me, though, and they’re a bit more expensive.”

He, too, jumped at the crack of an apparition. On good days, Mundungus was healthily wary. On bad days, he was pure paranoia. Today he was somewhere in the middle, though the whole situation with Isaac had him on severe edge. He tried not to show it, but did hope that this exchange could be over soon so he could move on. “There’s a lot of murderers on the loose,” Mundungus said, and he supposed that was true. “Not me, though, just so ye know.” He shot her a grin. “But yeah, maybe best to get this over with quick and move on, yeah?”

[mundungsx]

gwen.

She liked Mundungus Fletcher.  They had known each other for about five minutes, but he seemed like a pretty interesting person.  And interesting people were so much more likable than boring people.  And he was nice to plants, and she had always thought that the way people treated plants said a lot about who they really were.  “You got a NEWT in herbology?”  She brightened at the thought.  “Me too!  Which was your other NEWT?”  Maybe it was in potions and they were more alike than she realized.

“Of course,” she agreed, making her face serious again.  This was a business deal after all.  “That’s what I’m thinking.  I’ve read about some pretty brilliant things it can do on it’s own, so I imagine in a potion or antidote with ingredients to enhance those properties it could be life changing for some people.  I’m not a potioneer either, but I’m not bad… and plants are firmly in my wheelhouse.  I will let you know,” she nodded.  “and this may have to be a repeat transaction if things go the way I’m thinking they are.”  Her eyes widened.  “Oh, yes!  If you have time.  And I know just the place…”  she paused.  “should we get snacks too?”

Mundungus still found it quite impressive that he had graduated Hogwarts to begin with, and that he had managed to it with two NEWTs. Of course, he was well aware that was a rather low amount, but he’d been quite occupied with side businesses even then. “Potions! I flunked out of my Defense NEWT, but I blame the school for that one. Different professor every year, and all that. Can’t be good for a kid’s learning process, can it?” That, and he’d stopped going to most of his lessons in hist last year.

He listened to her with genuine interest and admiration, too. He’d never been motivated enough to properly apply himself to something like this, as it wasn’t something that’d bring him either money or a feeling of release, but that didn’t mean it didn’t intrigue him. “That sounds bloody brilliant,” he said. “Am keen to see what ye come up with.” A grin, then. “Well, I do love me some loyal customers, not gonna lie.” Mundungus gave the other a wink. “Yeah, yeah, I got time, ‘f course. We’ll need some snacks, in case ye get the munchies. Food’s a lot better when high as well. So let’s get some and then go wherever ye wanna go, yeah?”