Disclaimer: I don't own anything, J.K has that honour. I did, however, give a name to The Three Broomsticks' waiter; I felt the bloke needed one.
A/N: No slash, no pairings, all names and places are canon. Please try not to 'Hit and Run', reviewing only takes you a minute and it's the only feedback the author gets.
1993, 14 days til Halloween
Rusty brown, gold and yellow-cracked leaves littered the hard ground next to the nobbled cases of fallen conkers. Pine needles wheeled in the air, and the large oaks swelled and groaned as relentless gales bombarded their limbs and left their precious seeds strewn about over the cobbled streets and crested gables of the village of Hogsmead. Smoke rose into the cold and darkening late afternoon sky from the chimneys of the many small shops and café's, visible only for a few moments, before it was taken by the wind.
The white breath of the village residents and visitors behaved in the same manner whilst they moved in huddled groups up and down the main street, chatting idly while their scarves flailed around their necks. Three of the visitors, who may as well have been residents since they visited so often, were making a beeline down the narrow lane and straight for the entrance of, what was one of Hogsmead's more popular attractions, 'The Three Broomsticks' pub; once there, they pushed open the door and bustled into the familiar warmth.
"Merlin's beard, I thought my dreads had become possessed the rate they were whacking me in the face!" came the muffled voice of Lee Jordan, as he fought to detangle his head from a red and gold Gryffindor scarf. "Sodding wind, I wouldn't mind it if it did something useful every now and again like blow away the Slytherin Quidditch team or blast Snape into the Whomping Willow."
"Now that would be excellent," said a rosy cheeked Fred Weasley.
"It'd be like having a greasy, sweet-less piñata," grinned a blustered George. "All you'd have to do was watch since the tree'd do all the work."
The pub was packed today with folk of all kinds. There were tables of old wizards sat in front of the snapping fire nursing pints of the finest local ales or tumblers of red currant rum and Firewhisky - smoking tobacco and laughing, witches cackled away in their small groups upon the mezzanine with glasses of wine and sherry, and a few hooded and cloaked figures sipping at spiced mead spoke quietly in the cosy corners.
The trio managed to spot a group of middle aged witches and wizards leaving a table against the far wall, so they quickly claimed it before it became occupied once more.
"Don't suppose we'll be missed, do you?" asked Lee, removing his cloak and sitting on one of the chairs.
"Pfft nah, it's Sunday, the only person who'll be wondering where we are will be Filch-"
"-He'll be perplexed as to why he hasn't found us pulling a prank yet-"
"-At this time of the day we've usually let off a few dung-bombs at least-"
"-We would've if we hadn't ran out-"
"-which is why we've just been to Zonko's to restock," Fred and George replied in their usual tandem, also sitting down.
"Yeah that's true. I'll bet he's wandering through the castle right now, paranoid a Fanged Frisbee's gona fly out of one of the suits of armor or something," said Lee. He paused and considered this for a moment. "Actually, that's not a bad ide-"
"Anything to drink, guys?"
The three jumped abruptly at the sudden appearance of the tall, blonde waiter who'd apparently just materialized beside the table.
"Bloody hell Gwyn, don't do that," gasped Lee clutching at his heart.
"Sorry there boyo. Can I get you three anything?" said the Welshman, smiling handsomely down at them.
"Three Butterbeers, mate," said Lee, and they watched him nod and meander back to the bar.
"Blimey," breathed the commentator, "for a split second there I thought he was that Hufflepuff Prefect…Oh what's he called again…" He drummed his fingers on the table in thought before turning to the twins. "…You know, the blonde one who caught us last week teaching the portrait of the green parrot to swear at passers-by."
The only response he got was that of the howling wind rising in magnitude making the building creak and lurch over the odd hacking cough and pub chatter.
"Guys?" he repeated, looking at them properly.
Fred and George were too busy watching the retreating back of the waiter - elbows on the table and holding their heads in their hands - to realise they were being addressed. Lee scoffed at this and thought for a moment, he didn't want to cause a scene so he opted for the gentle approach of getting the twin's attentions, and batted their skulls together with a loud THUMP!
"OW!" exclaimed the brothers, causing a few drinkers to swivel around and look at them, before glaring at the youth with gritted teeth.
"What'd you do that for?" frowned George, rubbing his forehead.
"I think I'm concussed," emulated a whining Fred.
"Every heterosexual bloke is allowed a 'Man Crush,' everyone knows that, it's common knowledge," began Lee, "but the trick is to swoon subtly."
"…Subtly," repeated George. "I've heard of that word before…"
"Can you spell that?" said Fred looking about his person for a quill.
"Sure. T-H-A-T," came the cocky reply.
Fred glared.
"…I dunno why you're so enamoured with him anyway. I can understand international Quidditch players like Matthew Echunga, my current one, but what's so special about a Welsh waiter?"
A collective gasp told Lee he'd said the wrong thing. The twins slowly moved their heads closer to Lee's and began speaking in quiet, mystical tones.
"Some say that HE was the famous disguised Chaser of The Caerphilly Catapults, and that the only reason that he was dropped from the team, was because he was apparently using the Imperius curse on the rival players with only the power of his mind," Fred said in a low voice.
"It's also been rumoured that he's actually the only male Veela, and that his hair has been used in many a wand core," continued George, waving a hand enigmatically across his eyes.
"I heard," said a random shifty wizard, leaning down to their level as he was passing their table, "that he once stared into the eyes of a Basilisk, and it died." And he went on his way without a word.
Raising his eyebrows, Lee could've sworn the pub twaddle lifted in volume slightly after the exchange as if the room had been eavesdropping. He looked at Fred and George who were already looking at Lee, nodding in agreement at the statement of the shady man as if to say 'Yeah, you heard him.'
"…Fair play," conceded the commentator.
"Here you go guys," the waiter said in his deep tone, jolting the group once more as he unexpectedly appeared. He placed the drinks in front of the boys. "Enjoy," he said warmly, collecting their coins and turning away.
The Welshman was half way back to the bar, when he suddenly stopped with an "Oh!" and turned back to face them. "I almost forgot I'm supposed to be telling people, there's going to be a Halloween party held here the week after next, fancy dress and all that jazz. Madam Rosmerta's booked 'Pumpkinhead' to play so it should be a good night."
The trio snapped to attention at once at the sound of the words 'party,' 'fancy dress,' and 'Pumpkinhead,' temporarily ignoring the fact that Fred was now sporting a frothy moustache or that a few tables over an elderly warlock had just that moment missed his chair when attempting to sit down and landed on the floor.
"Hogwarts students are the last people I should be telling, but you lot have habit of finding these things out for yourselves; I may as well save you the bother," said the waiter over his shoulder as he scurried over to the cursing chap to give him a helping hand.
Fred, George and Lee looked at one another with barely contained excitement. "A FANCY DRESS PARTY!"
"The possibilities!" cried Lee in ecstasy.
"Wait, what actual day is Halloween?" asked George. "It's no good getting excited if we can't sneak out."
Fred scrunched up his face in thought. "Uh, it will be a…"
"Sunday," answered a resolute female voice from beside the table.
The three looked up, their gazes coming to rest upon the pretty, curl framed face of the pub landlady herself, Madam Rosmerta.
"ROS!" beamed the trio.
The curvy woman crossed her arms at the sight of three young men in front of her, and raised an eyebrow. "I'm not even going to ask if this is a Hogsmead weekend," she replied curtly.
The three boys lowered their heads slightly and gave out quiet sheepish laughs.
"Never mind, I'm not going to tell on you. I need all the customers I can get these days with all the dementors floating about, and the lergy claiming half of my locals on a regular basis."
"Can't really avoid that, tis the season," reasoned Lee.
"It still looks fairly busy in here," said George peering about, as if said virus was going to suddenly come in through the door and order a pint at the bar.
"Ah yes, well you can thank the new waiter for that," said Rosmerta, looking over at the blonde who had successfully albeit ungracefully managed to help the elderly chap to his feet, and was now forced to reluctantly listen to the old man tell a story of how he'd once fallen off his broom during a flight over a local forest, and had only managed to scare away an approaching bear by transfiguring himself into a gramophone and playing 'A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love' by Celestina Warbeck.
She lowered her head and bent slightly over the table, giving George a lovely view of her cleavage, and began speaking quietly to the three as if about to divulge a large secret. "The gossips say that he's the only one who's ever managed to produce Mandrake wine, and even after being subject to the fatal cries - which he survived - he successfully made enough to fill a few polypins and sold it to a couple of buyers in Aberystwyth."
Lee snorted. "Harry Potter eat your heart out," he mumbled into his tankard, rolling his eyes.
No-one appeared to've heard him though as Madam Rosmerta stood up abruptly. "Anyone who's prepared to risk their life for brewery is welcome to work in my pub!" she exclaimed, clapping her hand onto the table in emphasis. "I only hire the best, you know."
"Speaking of hiring, he mentioned that you'd got 'Pumpkinhead' to play for the Halloween party you're throwing!" said Fred. "Why didn't you tell us before? Costume preparation takes time!"
"Don't get your knickers in a twist, I only managed to secure them last night," she tutted at the pouting redhead. "No point in spreading word of a party if your entertainment hasn't gotten back to you yet."
Fred suddenly let out a gasp as if a brilliant idea had just popped into his noggin at these words. "Will you let us on the Guest list?" He bounced in his seat, looking up at her. "There is a Guest list, right?"
Rosmerta sighed as if she knew this part of the conversation was going to happen. "Yes, there i-"
She didn't get to finish her sentence however, as the sudden sight of Fred pulling the largest puppy dog look he could muster complete with stuck out bottom lip stopped her in her tracks. The twin's eyes got impossibly wider at her hesitation, emphasizing the big, hazel orbs and the endearing freckled cheeks underneath. She'd always had a soft spot for them...
"Oh alright-"
Fred and Lee whooped and high fived.
"-but I'm warning you three," she went on, wagging a cautionary finger. "Any misbehaviour from now until then and you can kiss that privilege goodbye. A few barrels of butterbeer went missing last week from the cellar and I've yet to catch the culprit or culprits; suffice to say I've put up some new locking wards to prevent it happening again. If I find out it was you three you'll be getting more than a removal from the party, I can assure you that."
Lee shifted slightly in his chair whilst Fred looked at her with a feigned expression of utmost indignation.
"However, innocent until proven guilty I suppose. I shouldn't even be letting you come in the first place what with Sirius Black on the loose and everything, but knowing you lot you'd probably turn up anyway," she reasoned, before turning to look at them directly. "Next Saturday night, 7 o'clock; just try not to get caught will you," she stated, turning to walk back to the bar.
"You're a diamond, Ros," said Fred to her retreating back. He could've sworn he heard her mutter something like 'Going to regret this…' but he shook the thought from his mind and turned back to the others. "Wards, eh? Damn, she's learned."
"Well chaps you heard the lady; Operation: 'Subtly-create-Halloween-costumes-and-sneak-out-of-school-on-Halloween-without-anyone-noticing' is now in effect!" smiled Lee, rubbing his palms together.
Fred raised an eyebrow. "…S.c.h.c.a.s.o.o.s.o.h.w.a.n?"
"I'm useless at acronyms, don't judge me," he mumbled.
The redhead shook his head, coughed a little and turned to look at his quiet twin. "You alright there Georgie? You're looking a bit flushed."
"Hmm? Wha-? Oh I am? Must be coming down with something, it's a tad chilly in here," he said, coming out of his daze and overzealously rubbing his arms.
Fred raised an eyebrow but still nodded. "Yeah it is. I wouldn't be surprised if this place had multiple gaping holes in the ceiling, it's so old and dilapidated. They've probably just covered all the cracks in the walls with all these clocks and knick-knacks," he said, gesturing to the space above the fireplace covered in brass plates and mounted antlers.
"Speaking of clocks, we should probably get going," said Lee, peering at the one above the mantel piece. "Time's getting on a bit and Honeydukes should be closing soon."
"Yeah alright," agreed the redheads, and the three friends finished their drinks in one large mouthful, before getting up with a scrape of chairs and donning their coats and scarves once more.
"Think we should start preparing tonight?"asked George as he followed Fred and Lee towards the entrance, doing up buttons as he went.
"We've got plenty of time for costume production but I think we should come up with some ideas at least," said Fred putting on his hat.
"Yes, yes but before that, there's something of a higher priority that needs to get done this evening..." said Lee opening the hatch and stepping over the threshold. "Filch, a suit of armour and a Fanged Frisbee."
The last thing heard within the pub after the door slammed itself shut behind the three boys, was the clinking of pint glasses connecting with the ale sparklers, the typical merry prattle associated with a room full of equally merry pub-goers and the laughter of Fred and George quickly drowned out by the howl of the roaring night.
A/N: I been writing this on and off for a few years now, and so I thought 'What the hell' I'll just post the thing, it may give me incentive to start on it again. Please leave a review, they really do wonders.