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The Right Sort of Attention

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“Rosmerta, there’s something I’ve always wondered,” said Minerva one night, after one too many rounds.

“Shoot, honey.”

The professor pointed a shaky finger at Rosmerta’s turquoise heels. “Why do you wear those?”

Rosmerta grinned, then called out to a male patron across the bar. “Gerald! What color are my shoes?”

Gerald blinked. “They’re blue, ain’t they?”

She nodded to the man next to him. “Eddie?”

Eddie directed a bleary stare somewhere south of her face. “Y' have shoes on?”

Turning back to Professor McGonagall, Rosmerta grinned even wider. “See? How else could I tell which ones are worth owling sober?”