(1938-11-03) Planning for Weekend Warriors
Details for Planning for Weekend Warriors
Summary: Medusa and Douglas explain the business plan to Augustin. And mock the French.
Date: 1938-11-03
Location: Boathouse

Medusa looks down at the bloodied sliver of wood she holds in her hand as she sits in a boat, feet dangling over the end. Nearby are her coat and a rather damp Gryffindor tie. "This place is deadly," she tells Douglas. The door is partially opened. On the space beside them are the remnants of their half eaten lunch. In solidarity to her jailbird boyfriend Medusa has opted to remain on campus today.

"You're the one who always gets them," Douglas points out, leaning back lazily in the boat and folding his hands behind his head. "Maybe you should stop shimmying up against the timbers?"

"DOUGIE-BOY!" comes a familiar shout from outside. "ARE YOU IN THERE?" There's a pause and the next words from Augustin clearly contain a grin. It sounds like he's standing just on the other side of the door, still out of sight, but close enough not to shout any more. "If you're naked with Medusa in there, hurry up and cover up the important bits. You've got twenty seconds. Twenty," he starts counting. "Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen…"

She snorts a laugh and jokes, "I could just kneel instead." Medusa reaches for her satchel and rummages through it for her potions book. "You left your homework in study hall again," she tells Douglas as she pulls a bit of crumpled looking parchment from her book, turning her wrist she holds it out to him between two fingers. Augustin's announcement makes her smirk. "As if we would be naked in the boathouse. What does he take us for?"

Douglas accepts the parchment with a wink and a smile of thanks. "As if we'd be naked with the door open, anyway," he counters, raising his voice. "In here, Gus! I've put my pants back on for you!"

"Randy teenagers," comes Augustin's reply to Medusa's question. "In /love/, and /alone/." He comes through the door grinning and bearing a basket over his arm. "Hullo, Medusa, lovely as ever. Douglas, you look like shite." He gives them both a jovial grin. "I've brought butterbeer!" he announces, hefting the basket.

Medusa glances down at Douglas' trousers, "Trousers too I see." She sits back against the side of the boat. "Maybe this is Gus' way of telling us we need to knock when he's in here with Lillian?" She inclines her head at the compliment. "Just what we need, sugar drinks."

"Still looking better than you, Froggy," Douglas calls back amiably. "Awesome! See, Malfoy, this is why Gus is my best mate. Come and join us, old man. And everyone knows that you leave a sock on the door if you don't want to be disturbed. Not out at Hogsmeade?"

"I /wish/," Augustin lets slip before his brain engages. He gives a self-deprecating little laught. "What I mean is, I don't bring Lillian to places like this," Gus says. Rather glumly. "She wants to wait, so we're waiting. She can take alllllll the time she needs." He starts passing out the butterbeer, and sighs a bit. "Alas, Douglas, my socks remain on my feet, or paired up in my sock drawer."

"There are plenty of things one could try while still waiting," advises Medusa as she accepts one of the bottles of butterbeer. She twists the top off and takes a drink to hide her embarrassment.

Douglas cracks open a bottle as he sits up, eyeing Medusa sidelong with a grin. "Uh huh? Aw, come on, Gus. She doesn't want you? Really? I thought you were all over each other like a rash!"

"Reeeeeeally?" Augustin asks, peering at Medusa with quite a lot of interest in what she's saying. "Can you be specific? Hold on," he says before she can say anything. He drags a scrap piece of parchment and a pen from his robes pocket. "Let me take notes." He gives Douglas an irritated glare. "There's /plenty/ of snogging," he says. "But I love Lillian, and if she wants to wait to give me the gift that can only be given once, I respect that. I respect /her/. It'll make our wedding night all the more special."

Medusa gives Gus a two fingered salute followed soon by an odd look. "You really don' -" whatever she had been going to say never makes it out of her mouth because she looks between the two friends and with cheeks as bright as red apples shrugs and says, "I can't help myself. Douglas is irresistible. Here. The broom closet. The big louvre on the roof."

Douglas nods solemnly, gesturing down at himself. "I mean, who could resist this, right?" He grins, flicking the cap from his bottle over at Augustin. "Aww, twue wuv? Come off it, mate. You're sixteen! Nobody in their right mind should have to be thinking marriage at sixteen. But… yeah, y'know. You could encourage her to get it out and give it a bit of a tug. Nothing wrong with that, now, is there?"

Now it's Augustin's turn to blush. He clears his throat and takes a drink of the butterbeer. He shifts uncomfortably. "Do you really want to share the, er, intimate details with me?" he asks. "Because let's face it, I /am/ curious. And it would be nice to know what to, you know, /do/, when the time comes. But that all seems rather private, doesn't it?" He glances at Medusa and away again, gives a rather agonized look at Douglas.

"I'm sure Douglas will tell you all about it later," says Medusa before she takes another drink from her bottle of butterbeer. "But he's right, sixteen seems young to have it all planned out. We're nearly eighteen," well she'll be there in a few months, "and we haven't talked about what will happen between us after school. Don't you ever feel like you've maybe taken things a bit too fast in one way and not in another?"

"We'll have a chat this evening," Douglas promises, shrugging a shoulder. "When there aren't any girls around to make you go red and stutter." He glances to Medusa, noting, "Well, we've got one thing sort of planned. If it works. And if we've got the funding to do it. Hey, Gus, you've got cash, right? Your family has, anyway. You want to invest in a business?"

"My parents met and fell in love when they were sixteen," Augustin says. "My grandparents were about that age, too - both sides." He doesn't seem to think there's anything amiss. "Dad always said, 'When you know, you /know/.'" He nods to Douglas, confirming his interest in all the sordid details, especially with no girls around to be embarrassed in front of. He eyes Douglas. "You know we have. What kind of business?" he asks cautiously. "And by the way, you still owe me the rest of that bet." Augustin adds.

"Double or quits?" Douglas shoots back hopefully.

"But that's business, not personal," Medusa says in response to Douglas. She shakes her head at the pair of them. "I'm not doing anymore betting, last one didn't go well. You two are on your own." The leggy blonde settles back with her sugary drink, content to cross her legs at the ankle and let them measure their manhood with gambling.

Douglas shrugs, taking a swig of his butterbeer. "Well… you know how I like it out on the bens and everything? We reckon there's a market for it. Taking skinny, pale wizards away from their desks for a week, up on the bens and showing them how to survive, y'know? Let 'em reclaim their manhood. Weekend warriors and all that." He nods to Medusa. "She runs the office, does the marketing and gets the customers in, then I take them out and show them how to live."

"Come off it," Gus drawls to Douglas. "I'm not sayin' you have to pay /now/. Just reminding you to pay eventually. And that's separate, like she said." He nods at Medusa, glances at those ankles, and then looks at Douglas again. He pays careful attention while his friend describes the business, and he's silent for a while as he considers it. "Hm," he says. He takes a swig of butterbeer and swishes it around while he thinks on it. "Dunno. I haven't really got any money of my own. Not until I inherit the business, and that won't be for /years/ yet. Decades, more like. Dad is still fit and loves his work." He imitates his father's French accent. "Ze grapes, Augustin, zey hold wizin zem truth, passion, and /magic/. Eet ees our /destiny/ to bottle zat for weetches and weezards everywhere!" He chuckles. "I can talk to my dad a bout it, but… if it doesn't involve wine, he won't be much interested."

Medusa tilts the bottle up to her lips and then as she pulls it away again says, "There won't really be grapes or wine involved, well maybe if we have dinner with the clients but otherwise not really." She glances over at Douglas and then back at Augustin. "Do you want to take over for your father? If it will be decades off what will you do in the meantime? Work for him and learn the business?"

"If you're not in, Gus, don't breathe a word of it to anyone," Douglas asks earnestly. "I don't want to get harangued by my mother for wasting my life away on crazy arse schemes."

"Yeah, I suppose," Augustin says. "I already know a lot of it. I'll just help him, until he feels ready to retire. Probably a few years he'll trust me with my own plot of land, let me run it how I see fit. That's what he's said he'll do, anyway. If I do well with it he might feel safer to retire sooner. Augustin blinks, and then looks at Douglas. "Wait. Wait. I mean… what if I could convince my father to give me the land when I graduate?" he asks. "I mean, as a present, you know. And then what if — what if we use /that/ land for your little scheme? As a test run. Oh, wait," he says, and deflates a bit. "It's not in the bens, it's in southern England. Better climate for grapes, better soil." He nods to his friend. "Alright, she won't hear about it from me."

"It's not a crazy arse scheme," Medusa states emphatically. "It is a good one, so don't be a sourpuss. If I thought it was a bad idea I would have said so at the outset." She lightly taps the mouth of the bottle against her chin. "But we should think about suppliers. I need to adapt the business plan or expand it. Think about what we need to do for the opening, attracting customers of the right mettle is key."

"Something at the ministry?" Douglas suggests, shrugging. "I mean, they're all dickless wonders in there, right? They'll be pleased to get away from their desk for a bit, I'm sure."

"Well, if you want to attract customers, people always enjoy wine," Augustin says, happy as ever to plug his family business. He snorts a bit of laughter at Doug's assessment of Ministry employees. "What if… what if you did something for witches, too?" he asks. "For example, while the men are up in the bens reclaiming their manhoods, the women could be in the South of England enjoying a ladies-only wine-tasting. There could be other feminine pampering things, too," he says, starting to really latch on to the idea. "Like… like… perfumes and… oh, hell — Medusa, what do girls like to do when the men aren't around?"

"Snog other girls. That's what we do in the dorms. Prance about in our knickers having pillow fights and snogging each other," delivers Medusa matter-of-factly.

Douglas just stares for a long moment, finally getting the brainpower back together to close his mouth. "I don't care if you're taking the piss, I am taking that image to bed with me tonight and making the most of it."

Augustin, who had also been staring slack-jawed, manages to close his mouth and then nods emphatically with Douglas' statement. "Yeah," he agrees. "There's really no way /not/ to." He laughs. "Seriously, though - what would ladies like? Really, Doug, why exclude half the population from your business plan? It doesn't make sense."

Medusa takes a swig from her bottle of butterbeer. "Women do all kinds of things. We're not ignoring them per se. You're assuming these men would have women or even be interested in them. Some men like men after all." She leans back on her elbow, holding the bottle with her other hand. "Men are just easier to start with, easier to please. Pleasing women is more complicated. But I'll think about your suggestion. It would depend on a few things first. Overhead costs being one of them."

Douglas holds up his hands. "I'm not saying woman can't come out on the bens, too, but… y'know." He shrugs. "Women's a bit harder. I mean, they can't pee behind a tree for one."

Gus shakes his head. "I'm not assuming anything. I never said 'wives' or anything. I just said 'witches.' There are plenty of witches at the Ministry who might like to get out for some fresh air, too. I just think most of them would prefer to treat themselves to a day of pampering, instead of muckin' about the bens of Scotland." He has some butterbeer, and nods sagely at Doug. "Not easily," he agrees.

"I could pee behind a tree if I had to," Medusa seems to feel she has to defend her gender. She sits up, setting her drink aside so that she can grab the parchment and quill from Gus since he wasn't getting any sex tips from her anyway. "I'll take this, thanks." At least she said thanks. Head bowed Medusa begins to write, noting down what they have all been saying. "I don't think it is sensible to limit ourselves to just the sad lot of parchment pushers at the ministry, but it is a place to start."

"We could put adverts up at the station," Douglas suggests, tapping his chin. "I mean, you see all those parents waving their dear little snotnosed Johnny off to Hogwarts, and all of a sudden they've got some free time for themselves, right? And those sixth and seventh years who fancy a bit of adventure in the holidays, before they're shipped off to some dull job somewhere?"

"Most of those sixth and seventh years don't have the money for something indulgent," Augustin points out. He doesn't object when Medusa takes his paper and quill, but rather tries to read what she's writing. "But the parents are a good idea."

"It depends on the student." Medusa is writing notes to herself so it is in an odd kind of shorthand. She looks at Douglas from beneath her lashes, "I still need to be able to do the other things with it too, remember. Acquisitions."

"Lost and found sort of thing," Douglas suggests, then pauses, slow grin crossing his face. "Lost and Found. Good name for it, eh? I mean, it covers everything we do."

"Lost and Found Holidays," Augustin says, trying it out. "Hm… Could work." He scratches his chin thoughtfully. "Well, tell you what - I'm in, for the land. There's even a little cottage on the piece already. My own place - me and Lil's, when she's not winning Quidditch Cups." He pauses. "But we could turn that into a getaway resort. It looks quite small from the outside, really, but the rooms are bigger on the inside. With a bit of money," he actually means with a lot of money, "We could add more space, make it quite comfortable."

Medusa considers the name and nods, "That's clever, Douglas." She grins as Augustin mentions land. "Would this be a cottage on a plot of land in Wales?" Half turning she picks up her drink and takes another swig of butterbeer. "We don't need land really. There is plenty of open land to use and the point would be to take people to different places if they are return clients, not repeat the same adventure over and over again. It's a week long survival trip with tents and hiking in between pitching of tents."

Douglas nods to Medusa. "And, y'know, no offence, Gus, but a field in Kent isn't exactly the same sort of survival challenge. Unless it's how to survive and learn the difference between hops and grapes." He grins broadly. "And I think I know where the first stop should be. You know there's a town not far from me called Lost?"

"South England," Gus informs Medusa. He names an area that his family has their vineyards in. Then he sighs at them. "No, I mean, we could use my cottage for the women. For their part. Oh, never mind, you must not want to do it, after all." He slouches back against a boat and has smoe more butterbeer.

"That's your home Gus. You don't want strangers, needy, whinging, moaning drunk strangers in your home." Medusa smiles over at the blond boy, "But thank you for offering. I have written down what you said and once we get things further we can have a proper sit down and you can help me figure out how to approach your father."

"Pampering women comes later in the plan, Gus," Douglas consoles his friend, necking the last of his butterbeer and setting the bottle down. "All I need is some tarps, a few knives, rope, carabiners and a couple of tents and I'm set. My part's cheap. It's the office and the marketing part that's going to cost us. So what do you need for it, Malfoy?"

"Well, we don't live there yet," Gus explains. "It's empty, now. We used to have tenants in there, but they moved to America, of all places, a few years ago. Then my sister and her husband stayed in it for a bit before they got their own place in London. Dad and Mum have been planning to let me live there after I graduate, but I can just as easily get a flat with Lillian somewhere else. Eventually, when I take over the business, I'll move into the main house and Mum and Dad will go to the cottage - or not, if it's making money."

As the pair of them explain Medusa finishes off the last of her drink. "We need nice furniture. Display cabinets. Photographs of the location. Business cards. A floo connection to a location in Scotland, where the secondary office will be. Possibly attached to a flat. Advertising space in the Prophet but also in some of the specialist literature like Wizard's Weekly and Masculine Magic - that's the one for the blokes who want to be more blokey, right?" Pausing to think about what else is needed Medusa takes the time to respond in kind to Gus. "We'll see. It just is, as Douglas said, a bit further down the line for us. We have a backer for the start ups so we're not desperate."

"Secondary office?" Douglas queries, face falling. "So we need money for two places? And somebody to man the Scottish office? Fuck."

"Can't you just raid your attic for the furniture?" Augustin asks Medusa. "There's bound to be an assortment of classic antiques that will do the job. Baroque would do, I should think. Or some dark wood Elizabethan monstrosities. I'll bet two sickles you've got plenty of that." He nods at her question to the blokey magazines. "Why do you need two places?" he asks curiously.

"We don't need somebody in the Scottish office," explains Medusa, "we need you there to meet them and then take them off and it will give us a place to store things when you're not outdoors. Besides, you need somewhere to live Douglas." She arches a brow, "Or were you wanting to stop at home with your mum and dad still? I mean if you prefer that we wouldn't need a flat to go with it, just a small office we can connect to the floo network." Setting the quill on her lap she carries on. "Or maybe you're right and a portkey would be better. Either way we still need somewhere to store the stuff."

Douglas wrinkles his nose, nodding. "Yeah, all right, all right. So an office of sorts with space to live above it. I don't want to live with my parents. And hook the office up to the floo network. I don't even know how much that kind of thing costs. We can probably rent somewhere, though, right?"

"An office in Scotland?" Augustin asks. "With living quarters above. Hm. Shouldn't be too expensive. It's /Scotland/, after all. Especially if you find one in some little town tucked away in the middle of nowhere." He thinks a moment. "How many men will you be taking in a group?" he asks. "Five? Ten?"

Medusa leans in towards Douglas, her voice lowered but not inaudible to Gus. "That thing, you're going to discuss with Augustin later…that has a lot more potential for happening frequently if you don't stop with your parents after graduation." Just in case he had been wondering. She glances towards Gus then, "How much butterbeer did you bring? I think Douglas might need some more."

Douglas coughs, reaching for Medusa's discarded coat to casually drape across his lap, even as a huge grin crosses his face. "Hey, don't knock Scotland, Gus! All the best people come from here, you know."

A loud crack is heard as a uncharmed practice bludger flies by the boathouse and into the water. Lillian and two younger Slytherin boys come jogging after it. The blonde with her bat in one hand pauses and eyes the bludger pouting slightly. Looking to the pair she sighs. "Okay practice has now ened see you two tommorow same time same place." The boys look at each other grinning and then walk off. Pulling out her wand Lillian casts a summoning charm calling the bludger to her once again.

"I'm not knocking it," Augustin says. "I'm just saying it's a bit cheaper, is all." Pause. "Quite a bit." He hefts the basket. "We've got seven more bottles," he assures her. The loud crack gets his attention and he looks out of the boathouse to see his girlfriend. "Lil!" he calls, waving to get her attention. "Over here!"

Medusa jumps at the loud noise, hand going to her chest. "Bloody hell, Yaxley." She leans over to grab another two bottles and settles back against Douglas' side, offering him one. Spying his tie on the bottom of the boat she grins and pulls it down over her head, the Gryffindor colours coming to rest against her silver silk blouse and golden Magijugend pendant. "I guess we're all less than the best then, being as how only one of us is from Scotland."

"I know you're all jealous, though," Douglas points out amiably, accepting the bottle and looping an arm casually around Medusa's shoulders. "I guess, yeah, somewhere between five and ten fellows at a time sounds right. Any more and it gets difficult to demonstrate anything. And we'd need more kit. Probably just five for the first ones, then. So we earn enough money to buy more kit."

Apparently, Gus wasn't loud enough, as Lillian doesn't immediately come their way. He droops a bit. "Aw," he says. He notices Douglas' tie when Medusa picks it up and puts it over her own head. He grins at his friend and takes another drink of his butterbeer, but chooses not to comment. He nods at Doug's words. "How much do you plan to charge for something like this?" he asks curiously.

"It's my disguise so he can sneak me into his bed," says Medusa as she runs a hand down over the red and gold tie. She twists the top off the bottle of butterbeer. "The cost will be dependent upon how many days they want. But the idea is to charge enough to make it seem elite without being elite."

Douglas shrugs, glancing sidelong at Medusa with a grin. "I don't know how much a few days away costs. I guess price it somewhere around a mid range hotel? I mean, sure, it's sleeping rough, but they get to learn how to do it. How much would you pay, Gus?"

Gus inhales slowly. "Elite?" he asks, his tone rather bland. His gaze wanders down to the pendant she wears, then over to Doug's. He shrugs his shoulders at the question. "Not sure," he admits. "Never stayed in a hotel, before."

"Sure. This is luxury, of sorts. As luxurious as it can be to run around Scotland in the rain. Your dad doesn't sell your wine like it is some cheap plonk does he? He wants to cultivate an image, a brand that says class and taste. Sophistication." Medusa sips her butterbeer. "I bet your dad has a great mark up on the wine too. We need to do the same thing." Her head turns towards Douglas, "Right?"

"It doesn't always rain," Douglas defends his country, offering his butterbeer to Medusa to open for him, so he doesn't have to drop his arm from her shoulders. "We should take photos. When it isn't raining. Down by the Trossachs and all that, where it's gorgeous. The English will lap it up."

"Well, we do alright," Gus admits modestly. He finishes off his bottle of butterbeer. "Just one question, though - /why/ do wizards need to learn how to rough it?" He tilts his head. "Isn't that the entire point of magic? Cushioning spells, creating water out of thin air, making a fire simply by willing it so… We even have tents which are bigger on the inside, that have feather beds and fireplaces and libraries and pantries in them. How are you going to appeal to a bunch of wizards with all that power? Why should they want to come on your Lost and Found Holiday?" he asks. "Mind you, this is the sort of thing my father will ask and want a good answer to."

Because she is the best girlfriend ever Medusa sets her drink aside and opens Douglas' bottle for him. She even flicks the cap at Gus as she expects he would have done himself then holds out the bottle for the Scot to take. "You're so French, Gus. Really. Only a French bloke wouldn't want to be more blokey. Men worry about being real men, especially men who do office jobs or poncy things like sell clothes. They want to know they are manly and masculine. We," she gestures between herself and Douglas, "will ensure they feel that way."

"And things like hunting and fishing," Douglas agrees, taking a swig from his bottle. "Just because you can go down to the shop and buy a fish doesn't mean you can't enjoy the thrill of catching one for yourself. Off your own back. With your own skill."

Gus bats the bottletop out of the air before it hits him in the face and laughs. "Yes, the French think being manly has more to do with pleasing their women than banging their chests at one another. Must be why we came up with the very best kind of kissing." He laughs again. "This rough camping business must be some silly English hangup, then," he says with a smile. "Masculine wizards should learn to live like unenlightened Muggles to prove their manhood. Now that /is/ an interesting angle, isn't it?" he asks gleefully. "Perhaps you should ask them not to use their wands for the duration. Bang rocks together to make fire, and all that nonsense. Spear a boar in the woods," he says.

"Gus probably can't do outside, it might mess up his hair," suggests Medusa with a grin. She looks between the two of them as if sizing them up, "I'll stick with my Scot. You can keep your French spit." Bringing the bottle to her lips she takes another drink. "There is something incredibly sexy about a man who knows how to look after himself, it says he knows how to look after you too. Anybody can learn to read how to do something but it takes a different kind of man to do it."

Douglas shakes his head. "It's all very well creating a fire, but then you need to know how to stop it burning down the whole forest. How to keep it going until morning. How to keep it hot, how to direct the heat to your shelter, how to keep the smoke down. All that. It's about what you do with your spells once you've used them, see?"

"None of this is convincing me, nor will it convince my father to invest," Gus points out. "Rather than insulting the French way of approaching things, perhaps you ought to think of a more pursuasive argument." He nods his head at Medusa. "My father knows how to look after himself - with magic. That's why he has a wand." He nods to Douglas a bit absently. "Yes, certainly… but you still haven't really answered my question."

"Casual xenophobia, Gus. Casual xenophobia." Medusa sips her drink and then says, "We don't need your father to invest or you for that mater. If you don't think he'd like us to buy from you then that's fine. We will go somewhere else for supplies. This wasn't about convincing you, it was about sharing our plans for the future. If you don't approve well so be it, but we do and we have support from someone with enough capital to ensure we can make a go of it."

"Anyone can cast a spell," Douglas argues. "It's not about that. It's about knowing what to cast, and doing it for yourself."

Gus stares at Medusa. "And straight for the knee-jerk reaction, as usual," he deadpans. "Review our conversation in your mind. I didn't ask to invest. You asked me. I'm simply telling you what you'll need to get at my father's money. If you truly don't need it, then fine. And where did I ever say I thought this was a bad idea, hm? Simply playing devil's advocate. I thought you'd appreciate the mental exercise with a friend, instead of being caught with your knickers down in front of someone who doesn't like you." He stands up and makes as if to go. "Though with the way you keep treating me, sometimes I wonder why I bother." With one last glance at Douglas, Augustin leaves.

Douglas raises a brow. "What was that about? He suddenly got all weird about it."

"I don't know. I thought maybe I did something but I was being nice." Medusa shrugs, "Maybe he's sexually frustrated? All that waiting and not doing anything."

"I'll fill him in later on," Douglas promises, flashing an easy grin. "But I bet he's got a right arm to be proud of by now."

"Did I do it right? Helping you keep your bad boy lover image?" Medusa leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek. "You know he clearly thinks we have sex in the boatshed."

"No wonder you keep getting splinters," Douglas notes, resting his chin on her shoulder. "You don't mind if he keeps thinking that, then? I mean… I know I've got a rep to keep up, but so have you."

Medusa sips her butterbeer and shrugs her other shoulder, "What does it matter if he thinks that? He isn't going to go blabbing and I know that you like it when he looks up to you."

"Part of the legend," Douglas admits, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "The legend of Doug Macmillan. Sex in the boathouse? Sure, why not."

"It was very good. Best sex ever," says Medusa with a broad grin. "Made me want to come back for seconds."

Douglas grins in return. "Best I've ever had," he agrees. "Almost worth not being at Hogsmeade. Oh, nice! He left the butterbeers!"

"Even better," laughs Medusa. She touches her bottle to his. "He's a fool to think your idea isn't sound. It is. If it weren't Cyril wouldn't be putting up good money. He's not a nice bloke my brother."

"He does have a point, though," Douglas argues, leaning back a little. "I mean, people are going to ask. Why not just stay in London in the warm? Why go out and get cold and wet? I'm not stupid enough to say people should leave their wands, though. I mean, it's every tool you ever need."

Medusa, being who she is, has an answer for nearly everything. "Those will be the people who won't pay and that's fine. They can go sit in the Cauldron and drink with old hags."

Douglas scratches his chin. "Market it as self reliance. Self discipline. Put pictures of rugged blokes on it that men can aspire to."

"Exactly." Medusa lifts her coat and peers underneath it at his lap. "Better now?" She smirks and lets the coat drop again.

Douglas snorts a laugh, rubbing his hand through her hair. "Your fault entirely!" he accuses. "You can't say something like that and not expect a reaction!"

She tilts her head into the touch. "I would you know…stay with you after school I mean. If you want to." Medusa looks away nervously and tries to cover it up by taking another drink.

"Tonight?" Douglas asks, arching a brow at her. "Good as your disguise is, I can't see the fat lady falling for it."

Medusa picks at the label on the bottle, tearing the face off of some goofy looking cartoon. Her brows draw together as she concentrates on what she is doing. "I meant after graduation."

"In Scotland?" Douglas queries, setting his bottle down beside him. "Or should I come down to London? Where are you even going to stay? Where am /I/ going to stay? And what if it all… you know. What if it doesn't work out? You'd kill me in my sleep."

"I don't know," admits Medusa. "I just…I can't imagine having a day where I don't see you, where I can't be near you." She tears another strip of off the label. "I won't kill you because we will make it work. Malfoys don't fail and we won't fail."

"You're going to have days where you don't see me if I'm out taking groups of wimps out on the bens," Douglas points out with a half smile. "But you can bet I'll make up for it when I get back." He rubs at her shoulder, massaging the muscles there. "How do you feel about living in Scotland? If we get an office here. With a room to live over it?"

Medusa turns her head to look at him then and jokes, "Maybe I'll learn to like it and become a camp follower." Because everything about her screams nature lover. "I've spent the better part of the last six years living here. If you're here I can be here. Besides, it isn't like I can't apparate back to London if I need to."

"I'll talk to my dad about it," Douglas promises. "Tell him I want to move out, make my own way and all that. See if maybe he'll front up as a guarantor for a mortgage or whatever."

Medusa captures her bottom lip between her teeth and slowly releases it. "Are we really talking about this? About you and me together and not about business but Medusa and Douglas as a couple?"

Douglas exhales, hesitating. "I don't know," he admits after a long moment. "I mean… we're only seventeen. Despite everything Gus might think, it's… well… it's very young to think about… you know. That sort of stuff."

She nods, knowing he is right and knowing that it is all a bit mad. "I'll be eighteen soon. Just a few months," says Medusa with a little laugh, "Not that it makes a big difference. I love you though, I know that. And I know you make me feel things I've never felt before and want things I've never wanted before."

Douglas flicks a grin. "We still need to make it to the end of term, first," he points out, nudging her head round to him for a swift kiss. "Well, until the 11th to start with. One step at a time, eh?"

"Yeah, you're right. You'll probably shag me and dump me," teases Medusa. "All to keep your rep intact." She takes a long drink of her butterbeer then considers, "If this coin from Cyril is worth enough we won't need the money from the bet. Do we even need the money anyway? If he's going to back us, why do we need to convert sickles to galleons?"

"It's not about the money any more," Douglas tells her, wrinkling his nose and leaning on her shoulder. "It's the principle. I don't like losing."

Medusa laughs softly, "Alright, we'll go ahead with the original plan. We can put the money towards the business and a nice present for Morgana's grandparents for having us."

"Break up for a day," Douglas suggests, hand sliding down her back. "Then get back together the next day. Once we've claimed our winnings."

She quirks a brow. "A day? Can't handle not having me for more than a day, huh?"

"I can't handle not having you for an hour," Douglas admits quietly, glancing to her with a hint of embarrassment. "I'm obsessed. It's sad."

Medusa leans over and lightly kisses him, as she pulls back she smiles, "It's not sad if I feel the same."

Douglas laughs, shaking his head. "I think that makes it doubly sad." He pauses. "I'll look into renting a place. Maybe even here, in Hogsmeade. I mean, why not? Work out of here. I know the area like the back of my hand. And if you wanted to stay with me, well… I don't think it'd be a massive problem. And if it all goes tits up and you don't want to stay with me, you can always get somewhere else. Or ask your parents."

"Why does it make it doubly sad?" Medusa reaches over and pinches his arm. "You should think I am perfection personified." She leans back against the side of the boat and sips her butterbeer. "Hogsmeade would be good," she agrees quietly. "You'll likely get sick of me anyway. I'm pushy and bitchy after all."

"Ow," Douglas replies amiably, sliding his hand down to pinch her backside. "Pushy and bitchy are just two of the qualities I love most about you, anyway."

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