Authors Note: Well, it's been a while since I've had the inspiration or motivation to write anything. At all. But all of a sudden this little ditty just popped out of nowhere, and I'm posting the first chapter to see what you all think – press that review button down the bottom there, and tell me if you want to continue with this one. There's nothing more motivating than feedback ;-) Enjoy!
Chapter One: To Fancy A Drink
It was a miserably wet day. The rain that beat unforgivingly against the pavement was the kind that fell in sheets, and caught upon the wind to slosh like waves against any solid item it should happen to come in contact with. All in all, not the best day to be wandering about the streets of London, but Minerva McGonagall supposed it would have to do.
Deftly, she dodged a large puddle that lay in her path, and inclined her head against the onslaught of wind and rain – the umbrella she carried was proving utterly useless, but it at least gave her the pretence of protecting herself from the elements. Pulling her long, black muggle jacket more tightly around herself, she hurried onwards glancing quickly at the shopfronts as she passed them – a cozy looking bakery; an upmarket clothes boutique; Gerard's Pawn Brokers; a large bookshop – and then finally, the place which she had been seeking. With the bookshop on one side, and muggle record store nestled on the other, the Leaky Cauldron stood, as unobtrusively and shabby looking as ever.
Slipping quickly inside, the warmth and noise of the overcrowded pub assaulted her senses immediately. Blazing flames were roaring from the fireplace in the centre of the room, and it seemed that every shopper from Diagon Alley was seeking the refuge of a dry seat and warm Butterbeer this drizzly afternoon.
Deftly, she waved her wand over her dripping hair and clothing, which became warm and dry instantly, and began to weave her way through groups of chattering women; over-excited children; and men nursing pints of firewhisky; towards the old but spotlessly clean bar.
"Ah, Ms. McGonagall," the bald and toothless old man with behind the bar said, glancing at her over the rim of a glass he was currently polishing, "what can I get for you?"
Minerva smiled as she sat herself upon an empty stool at the bar. She had known Tom, the bar keeper and good friend of her father's since she was a young girl, and though she had not actually laid eyes on him in over 10 years, it struck her as no surprise that the man did not seek to enquire after her health, life or happiness. He merely wished to know what she would like to drink. Some things would never change.
"Hello Tom," she said, looking at him amusedly and cocking her head to one side and raising an eyebrow, "Nice to see you too."
Her quick quip did not go unnoticed, and he let out a bark of laughter at the mingled expression of amusement and exasperation upon her face.
"Gillywater it is then," he replied with a wink, "On the house."
She laughed softly, taking a sip of the drink the man had passed to her.
"Well," he said tossing a dirty dish cloth into the sink behind him, "I won't pretend I'm not surprised to see you here. Last I heard, you were livin' in Muggle France, teachin' English to school children."
If the look of utter incomprehension at her career choice was anything to go by, the prolonged pause in his sentence was a testament to his disbelief that young Minerva McGonagall would spend ten years of her life living amongst Muggles. Minerva chose to ignore this implication.
"Which leaves the question," he continued finally, "as to what exactly you are doin' in London - in my bar nonetheless."
"I fancied a drink," she replied lightly.
Tom merely raised his eyebrows and turned to pour a Firewhisky for the man that had sat himself on a bar stool to the left of Minerva.
She shifted slightly in her seat, and drink in hand, glanced around the crowded pub once more. Despite what she had told Tom, she was really here with a purpose. She was waiting for someone – someone who it seemed, had not yet arrived.
There was a small family to her right, crowded around a table and examining a days worth of purchases no doubt made in the magical shopping alley beyond the brick wall at the back of the pub. There was a young boy gazing in wonderment at a shiny new wand which he held in his hands, whilst his parents in turn juggled sorting through a huge bag filled with newly purchased books, and a holding small girl who was intermittently crying, and sucking on a round purple lollypop.
Beyond the family's table, an elderly man was reclined in a comfortable looking arm chair, smoking a pipe that was emitting a strange smelling green smoke and hovering an ancient looking book in front of his face as he read. A gaggle of middle aged witches kept shooting foul looks at the man as his cigar smoke drifted toward them causing much exaggerated coughing, and not far from them, a pair of teenage boys were engaged in a violent and noisy game of wizarding chess. She sighed contentedly at the familiarity of it all, and indulged in another gulp of her drink.
"You know," came the gravelly voice from behind the bar, "for someone who's calling in life involves living like a Muggle, you seem awfully comfortable amongst all this…dare I say…magic?"
"I wouldn't say that is my calling in life, Tom." Her dark eyes sweeping over him in a characteristically stern gaze.
"You're back to stay then?" he responded lightly, but returning her stare with a sharply calculating look of his own. For a moment their eyes locked in a fierce but silent battle of wills, until she finally admitted defeat.
"Maybe."
He nodded, and imperceptibly glanced over Minerva's shoulder at the man who had just walked through the pub door, looking as equally drenched as the dark haired witch sitting before him had done only moments ago.
With a small smile, almost invisible to the unsuspecting eye, Tom the bar-man discretely gestured to the tall man who had just entered the premises, and leaned close to the annoyed looking witch sitting at his bar.
"Well, if that be the case, I think someone is here to see you."
Minerva had barely turned herself upon the bar stool to gaze in the same direction as Tom, when she found the person in question merely three feet from her. A mane of auburn hair fell over the shoulders of a fine set of purple and gold robes, whilst an equally impressive beard hung to the waist and was tucked carefully under a wide black belt (in fear, Minerva supposed, of getting it caught in any number of inanimate objects). Her eyes moved swiftly from the shiny heeled buckled boots upon his feet, to his face, where the brightest, bluest eyes she had ever seen sparkled at her over a pair of silver half-moon spectacles.
"Minerva McGonagall?" the strange man enquired, although he already seemed to know that his presumption was right, "Pleased to meet you. I'm Albus Dumbledore."