Written for brazensers's "The Unknown Character Competition: Who the Heck is That?". I received the character Ambrosius Flume, owner of Honeydukes' Sweet Shop in Hogsmeade, and finally got around to writing it. ;) I think it's still the only fic with this character... :D Hope you enjoy!
JK obviously owns everything!
Just Like His Father
Snow was falling softly, sparkling in the morning sun shining through the wide glass windows. A sswift gust of icy wind scattered some of the flakes and blew a cloud of previously-fallen snow off the roof of The Three Broomsticks pub and onto the unsuspecting head of one Elsa Flume, who was carrying two steaming mugs of Butterbeer. Shivering, Elsa pulled her cloak tighter around her and hurried off up the high street of Hogsmeade village to the shop that she owned along with her husband.
Opening the door, Elsa sighed in relief at the blast of warmth and, entering the store to place the hot mugs on the counter, laughed as she heard her husband's shout from the back room.
"Ellie! Hurry up and shut the dang door! It's colder than your mother on a bad day in here!"
She smirked, and purposefully took her time in ambling back to the door and shutting it carefully, by which time her husband had come out of the back room to see what was taking so long.
"Oh! You brought Butterbeer over! Did you deliver Rosmerta's order of Pepper Imps and Eric's weekly supply of sugar mice?"
"No," she said sarcastically. "I simply forgot. You'll just have to go out for me."
Grinning at her husband's playful glare, she pulled off her thick winter coat and hung it on a hook in the wall, along with her now wet hat and gloves, the snow having melted once she entered the cozy-warm room.
Honeydukes' Sweet Shop, the shop she and her husband (a Mr. Ambrosius Flume) had owned and operated for over thirty years, was always kept at a relatively high temperature. Not only did it help with the arthritis that was setting into their bones (coming from both of their families genetically), but it was just wonderful to walk into a toasty atmosphere after being out on the freezing cold high street of Hogsmeade.
Elsa loved watching the Hogwarts students come into their shop on the second weekend of every other month during the school year and have their faces light up as they entered the comfy atmosphere filled with delicious and [sometimes] strange sweets. There was a sort of accomplishment, knowing that their years of hard work were being paid off not only with how successfully they were doing financially, but also bringing cheer to others that visited.
Taking a sip of her hot Butterbeer, she sank onto one of the rickety-looking chairs behind the counter.
"Have you finished packaging Horace's crystalized pineapple yet?" she asked, motioning to the back room.
"Nearly, I was just about to seal the box when you came in. Want to take it over to the post office now or this evening?"
Knowing his detestation of cold temperatures, she laughed playfully. "Whenever you finish is fine. I don't fancy being caught outside with those dementors coming around," She shivered. "Nasty things, they are."
"Hmm." He agreed, taking another sip from his mug.
He personally despised the dark creatures that were basically living nightmares. They spooked him terribly and though they didn't cause him to see terrible memories or anything, their deep, freezing cold and the feeling of despair that hung around them was bad enough.
Ambrosius sighed heavily, remembering the reason why the dementors were lurking around the village every night, swooping in and out of alleyways and casting their chilling presence over the quaint shops.
Sirius Black.
He, of course, had known the once-troublemaker. James Potter and Sirius Black, along with their friends, were always stopping in at Honeydukes, even if it wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend for the rest of the classes.
Now, they might not have known that he knew about the secret passageway in his shop's cellar, but he did. None of them seemed the type to steal anything and, granted, nothing had been stolen. He secretly agreed with himself to keep their secret, and was rewarded with good business and pleasant conversation whenever the four of them (the self-proclaimed 'Marauders') would take a visit in the later hours of the evening.
If someone had told him then that the small, tightly-knit group of friends would be betrayed by one of their own, he would have recommended they go to St. Mungo's.
Running a hand through his greying hair, Ambrosius took his half-empty mug of Butterbeer and went back to finish packaging the sweets, his wife's worried gaze following him.
"And get another box of Jelly Slugs dear – they've almost cleaned us out."
It was later that day and the shop was bustling, full of Hogwarts students doing their Christmas shopping. His wife had sent him down to the cellar to get a few more packages of sugar quills and some Jelly Slugs – by far two of the most popular candies they offered.
As he tromped down the steps to the stone floor below, he thought he saw the secret entrance to the tunnel move, but when he looked again everything seemed normal.
Strange. He thought, looking curiously at the stone floor. I could have sworn I just saw it move.
But he just shrugged his shoulders and retrieved the necessary boxes, carefully making his way back up the stairs to the main area of the shop.
He commenced with putting the fresh boxes out on display, but kept one eye on the ajar door to the cellar, keeping an eye out for anyone coming or going. As he situated himself behind the counter, he saw a thin, bespectacled boy with jet-black hair come creeping out of the door, looking anxious. The boy looked to be Hogwarts-aged and old enough to be visiting the village, but still looked surprisingly familiar to the aging shop owner.
The boy glanced around surreptitiously, then smiled broadly as his gaze landed on a red-haired boy and a bushy-haired girl who were looking at the "Unusual Tastes" display.
He couldn't hear what they were saying as the boy walked over to them, but definitely heard when the girl shrieked "Harry!" and the other two grinned broadly.
Harry. Why did that sound so familiar? The boy brushed back his fringe of hair for a moment and for a split-second a thin, lightning bolt scar was visible.
Harry Potter.
No wonder the boy had looked so familiar. Hadn't he just been contemplating earlier how much time the boy's father and his best friends had spent in the sweet shop?
He watched the three of them walk out into the cold, laughing and talking happily. That was the way things were supposed to be. Ambrosius was indeed happy that despite everything that had been thrown at the poor boy – losing one's parents to an evil mass-murderer and everyone else he might have considered family once in a single night – he was growing up to be a quite normal boy and, if the coming out of the cellar passageway was any indication, he was growing up to be just like his father.
Fin