So Bracing

by Kelly Chambliss

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Chapter 1

"Professor McGonagall! How good to see you!" Hannah Abbott's cheerful voice floated into the back room of the Leaky Cauldron where Tom Weatherbroom was tapping a new keg of mead he'd just fetched from the cellar.

McGonagall! Finishing the tap quickly, Tom hurried out to the bar, straightening his apron and running a tidying hand over his totally bald pate, a gesture left over from the days when he'd actually had a full head of hair. He'd worked at the Cauldron as boy and man these eighty-five years at least – owned it now, in fact – but old habits died hard. In his mind, he was still young: cheeky and curly-haired and, yes, just a bit of a lad.

Ah, well, the years caught up with everyone – if they were lucky enough to have a lot of years – and at least Tom still had his wits and his magic about him. Not to mention his eye for a pretty girl. He flashed Hannah a grin and stepped up to serve Professor McGonagall himself.

It wasn't every day that the Headmistress of Hogwarts visited his pub, and Tom was always glad when she did, not just because her presence raised the tone of the place, but also because talking to her usually tickled him no end. Her sharp, witty tongue was well-known and great fun to listen to as long as you wasn't the one on the end of the lashing.

"Good afternoon, Professor," he said, reaching for a glass and wanding open a bottle of gillywater. She never took anything stronger in public, though Tom clearly recalled her pre-Hogwarts days, back when she worked for the Ministry. Just a girl, she'd been then, but she could hold her own with her hard-drinking Ministry colleagues when they'd all pack into the pub of a Friday evening. That'd be her Scottish blood, he supposed; whisky was like mother's milk to them people.

"Thank you, Mr Weatherbroom," the professor replied, placing a neat pile of sickles (payment and substantial tip) on the counter and nodding to Hannah. "Miss Abbott."

"What brings you to Diagon Alley this fine summer's day?" Tom asked as she sat down at the bar. "Something fun, I hope." He doubted it, though. He knew that in the three years since the Battle of Hogwarts, she had left school grounds only to attend funerals and Wizengamot trials.

"In fact, I am about to leave on a brief holiday," the headmistress said. "I've arranged a portkey at the Ministry."

"Glad to hear it," Tom said, genuinely pleased. If anyone needed a break, she did. She looked as collected and confident as ever in a neat Muggle blouse and skirt, her hair still as dark as it had been forty years ago, but Tom could see the tired lines around her eyes. And she was much too thin.

"Tom is taking a holiday soon, too!" Hannah piped up. "We all insisted – the rest of us bartenders, I mean. He hasn't had a rest in. . .well, I don't know in how long. We convinced him that he's trained us well enough that the pub will still be standing when he gets back."

"Aye, professor, they're a force of nature, these kids," Tom said, gesturing towards Hannah. "Once they get an idea in their heads, they're like one o' them tornadoes. You just gotta go where they blows you."

Hannah laughed. "A rest will do you good. You, too, I'm sure, Headmistress."

McGonagall's stern face relaxed into a small smile. "My staff was insistent, too," she said to Tom. "For my own good, they said, but I'm certain they can all use a rest from me as well. I'm afraid I was rather dictatorial about restoring the castle."

"No, just dedicated," Hannah protested. "That's what Neville says. They're all worried about you overworking yourself." Hannah was affianced to young Longbottom, and "Neville says" formed a lot of her conversation.

The headmistress's smile widened. "Neville has been a brick during the reconstruction, Miss Abbott," she said. "I don't know what Pomona or I would have done without him. I'm looking forward to welcoming him permanently to the staff eventually." She turned back to Tom and toasted him with her glass of gillywater. "Here's to relaxing holidays, Mr Weatherbroom. And now I'll wish you both good day."

She finished her drink and with a final nod stepped through the main door into Muggle London.

"Fine woman, the headmistress," Tom said as she disappeared.

"Yes," Hannah said. "Scary, though. As a teacher, I mean. At first, anyway. Neville says that during his first few years, she made him horribly anxious."

"I thought it was Snape who sent your Neville round the twist," Tom said. He really should have been stocking the butterbeer cooler in preparation for the evening rush, but the temptation to spend a lazy few minutes chatting with friendly Hannah was too great to resist. The fact of the matter was, he was tired. Happen she and the rest of the staff was right – a rest would do Tom good.

"Oh, Snape, for sure," Hannah agreed, nodding energetically. "I know he was a hero and everything, and I guess I'm sorry he's dead, but he was just awful to Neville. So unfair and unkind. Much worse than McGonagall ever was. I mean, with her, it's just her stern way that's scary. Not her herself, if that makes sense. She was actually pretty encouraging to Neville in the long run. He really likes her now."

"Not still scared of her, then?" Tom asked with a twinkle, and Hannah laughed.

"Well. . . maybe just a little," she admitted. "He feels a bit shocked when he hears the other teachers tease her or say something personal. He says he doesn't think he'll ever get to that point with her."

"Age do make a difference to familiarity," Tom observed, settling his backside more comfortably against the counter. That was another benefit to Hannah's employment: being engaged to Neville Longbottom meant that she was a grand source of gossip about Hogwarts. Nothing mean-spirited, now; no, she weren't nothing but kind and good-natured. But young Longbottom told her loads, and she didn't mind passing it on to Tom.

There were few things Tom enjoyed as much as a good gossip. A barkeep had to be able to keep secrets, o' course, and Tom could be as closed-mouthed as the best of them, but that didn't mean he didn't enjoy being in the know. One of the main perks of his position, if you came right down to it.

He needed to ask his next questions delicately, though – didn't want Hannah thinking he was a dirty old man. And he weren't. . . just curious, was all. The professors all tended to keep their personal lives to themselves, which made Tom all the more interested in learning who – or what – their romantic partners might be. That Gilderoy Lockhart had once been rumoured to cohabit with a centaur.

"It's a good thing you and Neville found each other afore he went off up north to teach," Tom began carefully. "I imagine it's not easy to find a love life there, Hogwarts being so isolated and all."

Hannah dimpled. "Yes, I'll never have to worry about some other girl stealing Neville away. As if he'd let her, anyway," she went on loyally. "Neville and I trust each other completely."

"Wonder how the other professors manage?" Tom hinted. "Marriage and things like that."

"Good question," said Hannah. "Neville hasn't actually said much. Professor Sprout's family is the only one I know about, really."

Tom nodded. He'd seen Pomona Sprout and her grandchildren in Diagon Alley during the summer hols. The whole Sprout clan – the professor and her husband, her grown daughter and the daughter's family – lived in Hogsmeade, but they still came to town from time to time. Tom doubted that there was a kiddie alive who didn't enjoy a trip to the Alley.

Then Hannah leant forward with a conspiratorial whisper. "And don't tell a soul, Tom, but Neville thinks there's some sort of heartbreak associated with the headmistress. He overheard Sprout and Flitwick talking in the staffroom right before the end of term. Professor Flitwick said, 'well, you know it's always very difficult for her this time of year,' and Professor Sprout said, 'Poor Minerva, she lived such a lonely life all those years as a widow, and then when she finally found some new happiness, it got snatched away from her just like that!' and she snapped her fingers. Then Neville made sure to cough or something, he didn't want to eavesdrop, and of course he was right."

She looked disappointed, though, and privately, Tom agreed with her even as he said aloud, "He's an honourable lad, your Neville."

"Oh, he is! But I do wish he'd learnt the rest of the headmistress's story."

"Ah, well," Tom said. "Maybe next time." He tended to take the long view of such things. The Hogwarts staffroom was probably very much like the bar of the Leaky Cauldron. . .sooner or later, all the stories got told.

"Well, at least Professor McGonagall will have a nice holiday," Hannah said. "And who knows? Maybe she'll get lucky at the beach!"

"Miss Abbott! For shame." Tom pretended to be shocked, and Hannah giggled.

"Okay, probably not," she said. "But what about you, Tom? Are you going to look for companionship on your holiday? What fun things do you have planned?"

"Oh, just go to the seaside, I reckon," Tom said. He hadn't really given it much thought. "Take in some ocean air, stop in a few pubs."

"Pubs?" Hannah was aghast. "You spend your entire life in a pub! Why would you want to spend your holidays doing the same thing you do every day?"

"Oh, there's a lot to be seen and learnt in a pub," Tom said. "Like a textbook of life, a pub is. And I'll be on the other side o' the bar this time, don't forget."

Hannah wasn't listening. "First holiday in thirty years, and the pub landlord is going to spend it going to go to pubs, he says," she moaned, shaking her head. "Tom, you're hopeless."

"That I am," said Tom, smoothing his nonexistent hair and grinning.

He hadn't thought he wanted to go, but now he couldn't wait for his holiday.