Tonight Hermione arrived at the club and sat in her usual perch. She liked the seat on the second floor, above the main bar, and next to the window with the fire escape. She’d wait for Pansy to come around and deliver drinks. Some nights she delivered her a glass of deep burgundy Malbec. Hermione would savor and appreciate the vintage while overlooking the misty city below. Relishing a night off. Other nights Pansy would bring her a dirty martini. Each olive held a different name. She’d throw the entire drink back in one swallow, bite into the briny fruit, and await Pansy’s voice to whisper the name in her head. She’d slip out the window without a whisper to complete her task. 