Variations

Chapter 2: The Story of the Barkeep

Madam Alexandra Rosmerta could hardly remember the last time she'd seen the Three Broomsticks so busy. It must have been years, since before You-Know-Who took his war out in the open. Since then she'd observed that people were much more likely to spend time with their families, and only the bravest and most desperate came to drown their troubles in her pub.

Since it so often happened that those brave and desperate were also the ones fighting on the front lines, Rosmerta was frequently the recipient of first hand news about the war, and after a few glasses of her mulled mead it tended to come to her unbidden and unbridled by the forced optimism that the fighters seemed to put on for other people and even each other. She'd listen intently; eager for news and for ways she could help and atone for her actions the previous year, when she'd unwillingly participated in an assassination attempt on Albus Dumbledore and almost caused the death of a student.

That was how she'd begun relaying messages. It had started out simply enough, "If Remus Lupin comes by, tell him I need to speak with him." Little things that would reach the recipient even if she failed to follow through, just a bit slower, but gradually the messages began to change, until she was giving warnings about the tactics of specific Death Eaters and passing along theories about You-Know-Who's location and plans, and slipping her patrons small scrolls along with their Firewhisky, which they would pour over for a few moments before incinerating.

In the past few weeks, though, the messages had begun to change again, indicating that You-Know-Who had not only put a stop to his Death Eaters' attacks, but perhaps left England entirely. The mood in her pub had changed with the messages. The brave and desperate became less brooding and began meeting in larger and larger groups and their news remained optimistic no matter now many Firewhiskys she served. Gradually, they were joined by the less brave and less desperate, whose fear was finally superseded by their desire to drown their miseries with company.

Then there were the students. Rosmerta could always look forward to good business on the days when the students from Hogwarts were allowed to visit Hogsmeade, but their bravery and desperation had very little to do with when that occurred, though from the look of them they'd worked up quite a bit of desperation.

Judging by the general chatter, the students had just completed their final exams and were enjoying their last, but also their first, Hogsmeade weekend of the year. One student, a fourth year by the look of him, was loudly waxing philosophical on the subject of Arithmancy. Interestingly, he'd only had a few sips of his butterbeer while his tablemates had recently hailed Rosmerta for seconds, but the teachers at the next table looked interested. Another student, probably a seventh year, was sitting alone at a table in the corner, eying the excited fourth year with some contempt. He'd already been slightly cross eyed when he arrived, then drained three butterbeers in quick succession. If he kept it up much longer she'd have to cut him off.

As was usual on days such as this, Rosmerta was so occupied with the orders and conversations and tabs of the dozen tables she was serving that she noticed little else. It wasn't until she observed a marked increase in the number of people in her pub that she allowed herself to pause for a moment to investigate why. A quick glance told her all she needed to know: that day they had been granted their first clear view of the sun in months, but it had finally given way to the same sleeting rain that had been plaguing them for most of the past year.

Rosmerta slipped behind the bar and directed her assistant to warm up a few bottles of butterbeer while she filled a tankard with mead. While her back was turned, the pub quieted unexpectedly and Rosmerta look back to find every head turned toward the wide front windows, which were quickly becoming covered with crystals of ice. Moments later the door was forced open with a crack and a small group of students slid inside, hair and robes covered in ice and looking as scared as they were frozen.

The brave and desperate didn't even wait for the newcomers to announce "Dementors!" before throwing their Galleons down on their tables, pulling out their wands, and rushing out the door. The not-so-brave but perhaps-a-bit-more-desperate-than-usual were nearly as fast, standing up and Disapparating for points unknown but undoubtedly far away, several neglecting to leave a few Galleons behind, but Rosmerta decided not to trouble herself with remembering their identities, considering the circumstances.

Several students looked like they wanted to join the brave and desperate and several more looked like they would have already gone the way of the not-so-brave if they only had their Apparition licenses. However, they all held their seats and waited while the few teachers present held a hurried discussion.

Rosmerta could only hear about one word out of every five, but it was enough to glean that they'd planned for nearly every contingency except this one: that an attack could happen while they were so spread out and vulnerable.

Finally, only of the teachers, Professor Sinistra, announced that all of the students would be sent to Saint Mungo's. The brave tried to argue that they wanted to fight and the no-so-brave expressed the opinion that Saint Mungo's might be in danger as well and wasn't Hogwarts safer as well as closer, but the teachers wouldn't hear any of it and instead set about looking for an object big enough to serve as a Portkey for all of the students. The sudden and enormous crash of a window breaking put an end to all arguments. The students didn't even bother to find out whether the window collapsed under the weight of the ice or the effect of a spell, they simply rushed to the chair the teachers had finally settled on as a Portkey and disappeared, several of them forgetting to settle their tabs as well, but Rosmerta decided not to hold them to it.

With the students gone, the teachers made for the door and, discovering it frozen shut, departed through the broken window instead. After a moment's indecision, Rosmerta followed, intending to defend her town while her assistant remained behind to defend her pub.

Outside, it was so dark that Rosmerta might have guessed it was midnight rather than early evening, but she resisted the urge to light her wand. The sleeting rain was freezing cold in a way that neither her cloak nor a hastily performed warming charm could resist and her skin soon turned numb, but she hurried onward regardless, heading toward the sound of screams and the occasional glint of silver.

Her jewel encrusted heels were perfectly suited to tending her pub, thanks to a few cushioning charms, but almost useless for traversing ice, which was what the ground had become, so after nearly slipping and turning her ankle, Rosmerta knelt down and clumsily pulled them off. As she continued, she could vaguely feel that the ice was sharp and wondered if she might cut herself, but soon that sensation disappeared. For all she knew, her feet might have turned to ice.

Rosmerta thought she was still some distance from the conflict when someone ran headlong into her, knocking them both to the ground. The stranger got up and dashed off without bothering to apologize or help her to her feet, but she didn't have to wonder why for long because moments later a concentration of cold passed by, catching in her chest and chilling her in a way that the ice below her never could.

Pulling herself off the ground, Rosmerta peered through the rain and saw several dark shapes running in no particular direction, sometimes pursued by darker shapes.

A few people, the too brave and too desperate and much too eager, were trying to help, but in the confusion and chaos they seemed to be doing more harm than good. Their spells had no effect on the Dementors and often hit their fellow wizards instead.

Abruptly, Rosmerta realized that the dim light of random spells that she'd been watching by had been blocked out and a patch of cold was bearing down on her. Before she'd had time to react, her arms began to move outside of her control: something too dark to see had grabbed her but she was so numb that she couldn't feel the sensation on her skin. She smelled rotting flesh and heard a cold, rattling breath, then something silver jumped on her assailant and the Dementor cringed away. Rosmerta blinked and saw a brilliant patronus in the shape of a monkey attacking the Dementor, pulling and biting and scratching everywhere it could reach.

Rosmerta looked around and saw a student, who'd once introduced himself as Colin Creevey, watching the patronus intently, and when the Dementor finally gave up under the onslaught and retreated, Colin directed it to the next one.

Perhaps it was the Dementors and the way that the echoing memories of dozens of angry wizards whom she'd cut off one drink too late was getting harder to ignore, but Rosmerta was beginning to wonder what use she could possibly be here. She'd never encountered a Dementor in her life and hadn't used her wand for anything more involved than breaking up a bar fight in years. Even Colin Creevey was better off in this fight than she was, but as she watched him direct his patronus to the next Dementor, a spell that she couldn't tell was stray or intentional struck him in the back of the head and he crumpled to the ground, his patronus evaporating mid leap.

Rosmerta rushed to his side, joined by another student she recognized as Colin's brother but whose name escaped her. He began shaking his brother and begging him to wake up, but after a few moments of that Rosmerta pushed him aside and tried the few healing spells she knew.

"Help me get him up," she said when those proved ineffective.

Fortunately, Colin had a small stature and they were able to keep him supported, even weakened as they were by the Dementors and the cold.

"Are there many more students around?" Rosmerta asked as they struggled forward, searching for a teacher or at least a safe place to put Colin until this was over.

"I don't know," the brother replied. "Harry came running past before, warning everyone not to go back to Hogwarts, but I don't know where they went instead."

"Students!" Rosmerta shouted, knowing it was probably futile; she'd almost had to yell just to make sure Colin's brother could hear her. "Students, you need to get to Saint Mungo's! Come to me and I'll find you a Portkey!"

"You can't make one?" the brother asked.

Rosmerta let her silence answer for her, but simultaneously vowed to take a few classes at Hogwarts to refresh her memory if she made it out of this.

Suddenly, something bright and silver and shaped like a bear came barreling toward them, scattering Dementors as it went. Squinting, Rosmerta could barely make out its caster across the square. She could count the number of times she'd seen him on one hand, but there was simply no mistaking the silhouette of the barkeeper of the Hog's Head.

They'd never spoken in all the time since she'd acquired the Three Broomsticks. In fact, as far as Rosmerta had ever heard, the man didn't have a name, but as the owners of the only two pubs in Hogsmeade they'd long since come to an agreement: make no attempt to attract the other's clientele, stay of his business, and he'll do the same for you. It was a simple accord that had served them well over the years and ensured the prosperity of both pubs while allowing for a minimum amount of communication between the two barkeeps, but at that moment Rosmerta couldn't think of a single person on the planet who she'd be more grateful to see.

However, as soon as she decided that, her verdict changed again. The Dementors were beginning to regroup, and with the barkeeper occupied elsewhere they were swarming around her, Colin, and the brother.

Rosmerta tried to summon a patronus but had never managed it before and couldn't do it now. She tried to call for help but couldn't yell loud enough for anyone to hear. Voices were ringing in her head and a sharp ache in her legs was the only reason she knew she'd dropped to her knees. She hoped Colin hadn't hit the ground too hard when she dropped him. Her cheek suddenly felt cold and she realized she'd slipped to her stomach. The voices were getting louder. If Colin's brother could cast a patronus surely he would have done it by now. The darkness was different: this wasn't struggling to see, this was blindness. She couldn't see, she couldn't feel. The last thing she heard was her parents, yelling that she'd never amount to anything if she became a barkeeper.

***********

"I'll show you," Rosmerta whispered. Her tongue felt sleepy.

"I suppose you will," said a cheerful female voice from nearby, but it didn't belong to her Mum. She wasn't where she thought she was.

"What happened?" Forcing her eyes open was a struggle but she managed it, though only for a moment. She saw enough to recognize the ceiling of a treatment room in Saint Mungo's before she had to shut her eyes or go blind.

"You got yourself surrounded by Dementors is what happened," the Healer replied. No word seemed to come from the same direction as the last, it was very dizzying. "No use in trying to stand up to those creatures," she continued, "best just to leave while you have the chance, I always say. Can you sit up?"

It took Rosmerta a moment to realize that the last statement had been a request and not advice, but she did as she was bidden, finally opening her eyes again to see that the lights had been dimmed to a more comfortable level.

"Drink these," the Healer ordered, placing a tray with vials of potion in front of her.

"How did I get here?" Rosmerta asked as she reached for a vial, but pausing to examine her hands instead, which had been wrapped in gloves of gauze.

"Just appeared in the lobby," the Healer replied, oblivious to Rosmerta's struggle to grasp the vials of potion. "We've gotten hundreds of people doing that over the past few hours, some hurt, some not, just students needing a safe place to go while Hogwarts-"

"Then it wasn't just Hogsmeade?" Rosmerta interrupted.

"Heavens no," the Healer chortled. "Most are saying those Dementors were just a distraction, but they got taken care of alright. That Aberforth is really something, might not be half as powerful as his brother, but he can still put most to shame."

"You mean the owner of the Hog's Head?" Rosmerta asked, wondering if she'd just learned his named. Finally pinning the vial between both hands, she forced down her potion.

"Of course," the Healer laughed. "Aberforth Dumbledore."

It was fortunate that Rosmerta had already finished swallowing, for she probably would have choked on anything she was drinking at that moment.

Noting her reaction, the Healer said, "I would have thought that you out of everyone would know who he is."

Rosmerta simply shook her head, unable to put her surprise into words.

"Well, I suppose he does tend to keep to himself," the Healer continued, handing Rosmerta a piece of chocolate. "You'll be glad to hear that Hogsmeade has been cleared of Dementors."

Rosmerta nodded again, taking a bite of the chocolate and letting it warm her.

"Is Colin Creevey alright?" she asked, abruptly remembering how she'd gotten pinned down by Dementors in the first place.

"Yes, yes, he's fine," the Healer replied dismissively. "Got sent here at the same time as you."

"And his brother?" Rosmerta pressed.

"Dennis?" the Healer asked. Rosmerta nodded, wondering why she hadn't been able to remember the name in the first place. "Not a scratch on him. I have to check on some other patients," she continued, heading for the door. "Keep off your feet; you've done quite a number on them."

"Wait," Rosmerta called. "What about Hogwarts?"

The Healer sobered for the first time since Rosmerta woke up.

"They're still fighting, but I hear things aren't going well."