AN: A quick little drabble for Camp Potter. I'm very behind on my writing for that...
This was for Week 2: Paintball. I haven't done any editing so I hope it's alright. Message me if there are any changes that need to be made!
The reason, Tom thought, that he knew everyone was that no one knew him. Bartenders were the sort of people that you don't realize are there. Not many people seemed to understand that bartenders still understood what you were saying when they were behind the counter, and not many bartenders were eager to correct people on their mistaken view of them.
The people who were smart enough to realize always knew where to go for gossip. Tom could tell you just about anything on just about anyone who frequented Diagon Alley. When they weren't divulging their life story to other guests, they were telling him. He pretended as though he was barely listening, but he stored it all carefully away. After all, you never knew when that sort of information would become handy.
He was one of the first to realize just how bad things were getting. At first, most people thought it was just them; only their relative had mysteriously, only their family had received an odd, threatening letter. Tom knew better. He knew something was coming.
Eventually, something did. Shady characters slowly began to replace happy, sunny patrons in his inn. Suddenly, people were much more secretive than before. They looked at each other suspiciously, even looked at Tom suspiciously. It didn't matter, though. What with all the murders going on, only those who really liked a drink were still coming around. He knew the regulars better than they knew themselves. He didn't need them to tell him to know what was wrong with them that particular day.
Things got worse and worse. His friends, his favorite customers and even some of his family began to disappear one by one. Sometimes, their names would appear in the Daily Prophet. At least, he would think as he wiped a tear from his cheek, he knew what had become of them. It was the ones who no one knew were gone that he lost sleep over.
There were more than one might think. No one noticed when the frail little witch who always wore a pink raincoat no matter the weather disappeared. No one noticed when the homeless wizard who took shelter under Madam Malkin's canopy at night suddenly stopped coming around. No one besides Tom, that was.
Suddenly, his pub that had been full of people was empty. His glasses collected dust and his ceilings had cobwebs in the corner. The occasional person came through, but no one stopped for a drink or to chat anymore. They pulled their cloaks around them tighter and shot him suspicious glances as they walked quickly through to the back. Tom was lonely. He felt as though he was being left in the dark. He never knew what was happening in the world anymore. He cancelled his subscription to the Prophet; it was nothing but lies nowadays, not a trustworthy fact in sight. All his friends were missing, dead, or in hiding. He'd never felt so awful, so scared and down on life.
Tom knew he had to do something. What could he do though? He was so lost in this world where there were no secrets whispered at his bar for him to take in as he pleased. He would wash his counter and his silverware in the vain hopes that someone would return to tell all. One word that there was still a Wizarding world worth saving was all he needed.
The word came in the form of an aging professor with half-moon spectacles. Tom hadn't bothered getting up that day. He'd stopped waking up early ages ago, thinking it was useless. It wasn't safe to go outside or to speak to anyone anymore, so why should he think a patron worth serving was going to suddenly appear? When he did finally mosey his way down into the dining area, he was shocked and terrified to find an old man sitting at one of his tables. It was a moment before he realized exactly who the old man was.
Dumbledore smiled at him and rose from his chair. "Tom," he addressed him. "How are you?"
"About as well as most, I expect. Alive." he said slowly, still hardly believing he was there. "I'm glad to see you, Dumbledore."
"And I you." Dumbledore took a step closer. "I'll get right down to business. I need your help, Tom."
"My help?" he blinked. "Certainly, anything.
A sad sort of smile crossed the old man's face. "You shouldn't accept so quickly. You might not want to help me when you hear what it is I am asking of you."
"Anything." Tom reasserted.
Dumbledore studied his face for a moment, then nodded, as though he approved of whatever it was he saw there. "I'm starting an order, Tom. I call it the Order of the Phoenix. I'm looking for people who want to take down Voldemort to do precisely that, in a nutshell."
Tom nodded. "About time someone did something. Sure glad it's you, Dumbledore. If anyone can take him down, it's you."
He chuckled at that. "I do not think I could do it on my own, which is precisely why I'm looking for you to join me."
"Of course." Tom agreed immediately.
"And with your permission," Dumbledore continued, "I'd like to use the Leaky Cauldron as a sort of base. Somewhere where members can meet and be safe."
"I can't promise Death Eaters won't be here sometimes. It does happen, when they're looking for someone." he warned him. "But I'll give shelter to anyone who needs it from them and protect them best as I can."
A twinkle appeared momentarily in Dumbledore's eyes, and then it was gone. "Thank you, Tom. I'm afraid for now I can't stay; my school needs me. I will visit you again soon with more news and more information." With that, he turned on the spot and Apparated away.
Tom sat down at his bar with more joy in his heart than he'd felt in a long time. The end of all this pain and suffering was coming, he knew. Soon, his pub would be filled again with bright and smiling faces, celebrating the fall of Lord Voldemort. Perhaps his missing friends would come back as well, finally released from wherever they had been all this time. He began to clean in a vigor, sweeping away the dust and mouse droppings, caught up in the excitement of the idea of new visitors. When he was done, he began to fill all his kegs and go through his recipe books, looking for seasonal foods that he had the supplies for. When there was nothing left to possibly do, he lit a fire and opened a window to enjoy sunlight. The sun filled the hole in his heart and he was content.