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"THEY'RE THE ONES WHO'LL HATE YOU, WHEN YOU THINK YOU'VE GOT THE WORLD ALL SUSSED OUT" -High and Dry, Radiohead
ADORE KINGSLEY HAD BEEN ON HER FAIR SHARE OF HORRIFIC DATES, and each one seemed to be increasingly disastrous compared to the one that preceded it. The girl could nearly swear some form of curse had been placed on her since childhood that jinxed every romantic endeavour she ever set out on. But truly, her lack of luck in the dating world all boiled down to one simple fact - Adore had terrible taste in men.
The beater didn't bother trying to convince herself that this time would be any different, but she didn't expect to be practically grinding her teeth with frustration for its duration. She had dates before that only talked about themselves, and some who didn't talk at all. But never did she have a date who bombarded her with questions like it was an inquisition, until now.
"And what about your early years? Any childhood trauma?" Horace asked, his beady eyes fixated eagerly on her for an answer. All of Adore's instincts were telling her there was something simply not right about the man she had bumped into at the shop and had accepted an invitation for dinner from, but she had been promptly ignoring them for the last hour in the hopes he was simply a nervous person while on first dates.
"Not... particularly," Adore replied through a clenched jaw, nostrils flaring with frustration. This hadn't been the first intrusive question he had asked, and she was sure it wouldn't be the last.
"I'm simply trying to get to know the girl behind the headlines," he smiled warmly at her, but it seemed far from genuine. Just like that, the proverbial glass window shattered and she suddenly seen this date for what it truly was. Something about his wording of 'girl behind the headlines' sprung a memory in her mind of an offer she had received from the Daily Prophet - the newspaper had wanted to run a feature article on who Adore really was.
It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back, as Adore decided to confirm her hypothesis by abruptly ducking her head down and looking underneath the table to see what he had been constantly looking down toward throughout the dinner. Her instincts were proving correct when she saw a black tape recorder in his right hand, which he had obviously been using to record their entire conversation.
"Seriously? You're a journalist?" Adore shot up from the table in a flurry of anger, her expression contorted in fury as the man before her began to stammer nervously.
"Please- just a few questions, I'll paint you in a good light I swear!" He pleaded, his hands in the air in defence as he took in her furious gaze and sneer.
Her nostrils flaring with frustration, Adore tore her wand from her hip and aimed its tip directly at the tape recorder still held in his right hand.
"Incendio!" She shouted, waiting a second to ensure the black device shot up in flames, forcing Horace to drop it onto the table to avoid it burning his hand. "And I assume you're paying."
