Disclaimer: Don't own 'em; I just play with 'em.
A/N: Please read the first chapter of Harry Potter and the Fate of Ravenclaw before reading this, it will make a great deal more sense. Please tell me what you think by dropping a review!
To Lose My Shoes
By OnyxDawn
Tom the Inn Keeper had been running the Leaky Cauldron since he was nineteen, having taken up the job after his father, Tom. All of Tom's ancestors, for as long as they could record, had been Tom the Inn Keeper of the Leaky Cauldron. Ever the honest, chubby, pink-cheeked men, very few people could discern one generation from the next. It was always the same, through war and peace, wild rumour and vicious lies.
This day was July twenty-ninth, 1997, and times we particularly rough. They called it The Second War, although a more truthful, honest name would have been The Second War Against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But in these days everything was rushed, and who had the time to force out eleven syllables? Tom the Inn Keeper sighed heavily as he picked up a stray chair and stashed it on top of the bar.
That being the last thing he had to do, Tom retired to his small, homey bedroom. It looked exactly like any of the other rooms in the building, with a window looking over the streets of muggle London and a mirror in the other corner. The small bed that stretched from one end of the bedroom to the centre was covered with a thin, light-blue blanket and some off-white pillows. After taking off his boots and dressing in his night clothes, Tom crawled into bed and blissfully drifted off to sleep.
He found himself in a large stone room with great pillars on either side, shooting up to the heavens. Stars twinkled from above, and Tom noted that there was not, indeed, a ceiling. The room had nothing in it, except for a tall mirror in the middle that stood, lonely and imposing. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, Tom took a few cautious steps forward. The mirror had a an intricately designed frame, and upon the archway that adorned the top were the words: "Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on woshi."
Eyes scanning the edge, Tom was afraid to look at the mirror itself, worried at what he might see. However, after several moments it seemed as if he had no choice. There was no way out of the large room, and the mirror might just have an answer. So Tom look to his face, only to see it grinning back at him, looking completely relaxed.
Wait, Tom wasn't grinning. He frowned deeply, but the mirror of himself did nothing. Tom examined himself, looking completely happy, and then realized that there was more to the scene. The Tom in the mirror had his arm around a petite woman, one whom Tom himself recognized as the girl he'd loved back when he was young. His left hand was sprawled on the head of a young boy, who had the features of both himself and the woman. His son.
Both Elaine and Tom had been killed by Death Eaters during the first war. Tom so desperately wanted to see them again, and often dreamt of them, but this was most unusual. Here he stood, staring at a mirror, and it showed him the life he truly wanted. Hesitantly, as if frightened that the image in the mirror would fade away if he moved too quickly, Tom reached out a hand and touched the smooth, dusty glass of the mirror.
The Tom in the mirror suddenly changed, and Tom jumped back in surprise. Elaine and Tom Jr. had disappeared, leaving just himself, leaning back in a chair with the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. Only the headlines didn't read of war and chaos, mysterious disappearances and death. The very front page featured and article about the Harpies winning the last Quidditch match. The Tom in the mirror kicked his shoes off, and Tom himself realized, just before he woke up, what this was.
It was the life he wanted back.
The next day at the bar, Tom was subdued, and didn't speak very much to the two customers who dared to come in and share a drink together. He spent the entire day washing a glass that didn't need to be washed until, at about five-thirty pm, an exhausted-looking Remus Lupin stumbled into the bar. He had bags under his eyes, and his robes were even more tattered than usual. Tom, distracted by the sight of his most regular customer, attempted to put the glass down on the counter. However, he simply let it go in thin air and it crashed to the ground, shattering at his feet.
"Oh dear," said Lupin, "I'm sorry. Did I startle you?"
"No, no," said Tom. "I've just been a bit distracted today." He bent down, took his wand from his apron, and whispered, "Reparo!" The glass mended back together an Tom placed it on the bar. "The usual?" he asked Lupin, who sat down in front of him.
"No thank you," said Lupin, "I'm just here for a bit of a favour. I'm picking somebody up tonight and I need to use your floo connection."
"Ah," said Tom. "Young Harry Potter," he shook his head sadly and stared off into space for a moment. Elaine's plain, humble face flashed before his eyes and he sighed. After a moment, he realized that he must have dozed off and coughed, nodding. "Of course, I'll be up. What's your question?"
"It's what do I hear when a dementor's around," Lupin answered, sounding weary. Indeed, Tom could understand. He was so sick of not knowing if he could trust the people he'd considered his friends for several years. It made him feel like his entire world had come crashing down around his ears, and all that was left were faint whispers that may or may not have been truth. "And it's howls," he confirmed.
Tom nodded. "Right," he said, "and mine...well...mine was what was my wife's name. It was Elaine, so you know I'm still Tom. But I think I'm going to change it tonight. You know, just in case somebody's overheard." He bit his lip, worried that by saying this Lupin wouldn't trust him. However, the werewolf nodded. Tom took that as a sign that he could continue. "My deepest desire," he said, thinking back to the image of himself in the mirror, kicking back and kicking off his shoes, away from the war and away from the horror, "is to lose my shoes."
Lupin gave him an odd look, but didn't ask. "I'll be in with Harry late tonight," he said, "after midnight, in fact. I hope you don't mind?"
"No, no, not at all," Tom said. "And his...?"
"He hears his parents' deaths when dementors are around," Lupin said. "That should be enough. As far as I know, only he and his closest friends know this." Tom nodded and watched the bedraggled man leave.
Hours later, Remus Lupin walked into the pub, steering Harry Potter in front of him. Tom felt sad, for some reason, looking at the boy who had gone through far too much. He didn't know Potter that well, seeing as how the only interaction he'd had with the boy was over three years ago, but he knew that the Boy Who Lived and suffered. Far more than Tom himself had.
"You hear?" he asked Lupin, not bother to ask the question in full.
"Howls," Lupin answered correctly.
Tom turned to Harry. "What d'you hear when a dementor comes near?"
"My parents' deaths," said Potter cautiously, glancing up at Lupin for reassurance.
"Deepest desire?" asked Lupin.
Tom grinned, seeing his wife's green eyes and his son's eager smile. He saw himself, laying back on the comfy chair, kicking off his shoes and forever disconnected from this land of desolute hope. "To lose my shoes," he answered. And it was the truth.