Author's Note: I recently came home and decided to go through and delete my old files. I found this on my computer, and as I was reading it, I couldn't remember writing it. It's in my style and I remember the plot, but I still don't remember writing it. It's a bit strange, if you ask me, but I thought I'd post it anyway.
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Bob.
It was a plain name. Normal. And altogether too short for his liking.
He'd always preferred to be called Robert, or even Mr. Madison, but when you're a bartender your name must be as short as possible. It seemed to be an unwritten rule. When a customer was drunk they couldn't handle more than one syllable at a time anyway.
There was Tom at the Leaky Cauldron, George over at the Hog's Head and in fact the only exception to the rule seemed to be Madam Rosmerta at Three Broomsticks, but there was hardly any heavy drinking at the Three Broomsticks.
His bar, his pride and joy, was a simple little place. It was filled with small wooden tables and a few upholstered chairs. It was closer to the atmosphere of a coffeehouse than a bar, but that didn't make it any less popular.
He always had a steady flow of customers, despite the unpretentious setting. It could be because of the friendly service and constant smile on his face.
Or it could be the fact that he had the only fireplace for miles around that was connected to the Floo Network for miles around.
You see, Bob wasn't exactly normal, despite his name. In fact, he'd probably call most normal people a name they've never heard before.
Muggles.
Bob had many customers who were muggles, but he also had many who weren't.
Wizards.
It was quite safe for wizard here because the muggles, when they noticed any strange occurrences, simply chalked it up to the alcoholic beverages being consumed.
Now Bob himself was not a muggle, although his mother had been one, but he was not a wizard either, although his father was.
To wizards, he was a Squib, and to muggles, he was just a little strange, but to himself he was Robert.
Now Bob's life wasn't very interesting. Sure he had a good job, and a nice flat above the tavern, but you could even say Bob's life was a bit boring.
All the other bartenders had lives that were chock full of interesting things that happened to them. And at the annual conference they always told their stories of famous witches and wizards who'd visited their bars, or the occasional fight that got into the newspaper.
Tom always had reports of Harry Potter himself passing through on his way to Diagon Alley. He got to meet the Boy-Who-Lived on his first visit to the wizarding world. He'd even had that Death Eater attack on his inn last year as they fought the Aurors for control of Diagon Alley
Madam Rosmerta still told stories of the Dementors who had patrolled Hogsmeade years ago. She also knew all the students at Hogwarts, including the famed members of the D.A.
George didn't even have to try. His pub was always frequented by the lowest scum that roamed the earth. He claimed to have He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself in there at one time.
Bob, on the other hand, had no stories to share.
That was, of course, until a few years ago, when a young red-haired girl applied for a summer job as a waitress.
Now Bob had waitresses before, but they only lasted a little while. All of them moved on to bigger and better things after this little job. But lately, business had been a bit slow, so a waitress wasn't really necessary.
Ginny, that was the girl's name, said she could provide a little more business if he'd hire her. The poor thing looked desperate, so Bob gave in.
Her name was soon shortened to Gin, despite the pun, and she learned the ropes quickly. Unlike his previous waitresses, she showed up to work everyday, didn't steal from the register and didn't sneak drinks under the counter.
Everyday for the first month or so, she was accompanied be at least one red-haired boy. Sometimes, by twins who sat in the back planning products for their joke shop. Eventually they realised that the job was safe and their little sister didn't need supervision, so they came by only when they actually wanted a drink.
She apparently told her friends about it, and the pub was soon filled up almost every weekend with her friends, most in their last year at Hogwarts. Bob was soon required to double his weekly shipment of Butterbeer to meet their needs.
During the weekdays she was visited by a slightly podgy boy, who grew less podgy as the time went by, who had recently graduated from Hogwarts. Neville, that's what she used to call him.
Her best friend was Bob's favourite. She was a fairylike girl with silvery blonde hair who, although she seemed a bit odd, had a good heart and visited every other day.
It didn't hurt that she was the only one who had called him Robert since…well, ever, actually.
Gin had been there when the final battle took place, and on the few slow days they had, she told Bob her version of what had happened. She said she knew Harry Potter, but Bob was sceptical.
It had taken place the week before her brother's graduation, and the Death Eater attack, although anticipated, was still rather unexpected. Gin had been part of the D.A. and helped hold back the main force of Death Eaters while Harry Potter and the Dark Lord duelled.
It was widely known now that their wands were brothers, the Daily Prophet had published that little tidbit in the weeks after the battle, and during the Reverse Spell effect Harry Potter had apparently drawn a second wand and used it to trap the You-Know-Who in the same sort of prison that the Dark wizard Grindewald was being kept in.
Harry Potter himself was constantly being frantically chased by the press, and even the littlest sighting of the famous scar made the front page news.
Eventually the school year started up again and Gin had to quit her job. Her brothers and their friends, however, made Bob's pub their tavern of choice and stopped by at least once a month. After Gin graduated she came by with them as well.
One girl in particular, Gin's best friend, came by a bit more often. She was odd, and at times Bob wasn't quite sure if she was sane.
But he had taken a liking to her, mainly because she insisted on calling him Robert.
When he had bought his tavern, Bob had been especially thrilled with the fluffy cushioned windowseat. None of his customers ever appreciated the full value of that seat, and most ignored it. But not this girl.
She'd come in during the afternoons, order a simple gillywater with onion and butterbeer, or sometimes just tea, and sit sipping it in the window seat. If Bob walked close enough he could hear her talking softly to someone, but there was no one there.
The poor girl. Luna, that was her name.
She was a bit loony if you asked Bob, but he never told her so.
She was having delusions of grandeur.
The poor thing thought she was talking to Harry Potter.
In fact, she thought she was dating Harry Potter.
But Bob simply brought her the drinks she ordered, always one for 'Harry' too, and one always mysteriously disappeared while she drank the other.
Every so often, she'd start dancing in the middle of the bar to the tunes of some old muggle song from a jukebox that had come with the bar. But there was never anyone waltzing with her.
Now one day at the end of July, Gin came in with her friends and family and a few older people she'd never brought in before. One of the women had hair that was a shocking neon green colour was arguing with a man with a revolving eye who looked oddly familiar.
Gin's oldest brother and his wife, who Bob was sure was at least part Veela, were sitting in a corner utterly content with their arms around each other. Her brother who had the new burn marks every week was discussing the use of dragon leather in clothing with one of the prankster twins at the bar.
The other twin was dancing with a woman who looked strangely like that quidditch star, Angelina Johnson. The youngest brother was dancing with a woman with slightly bushy brown hair, and glaring daggers at the not-podgy-anymore boy who was sitting a little too close to his sister for his liking.
Luna sat alone in the window seat, leaning against something that wasn't there.
Bob flipped the sign on the door so that the 'CLOSED' side faced incoming customers. He'd promised Gin and her friends a little extra time and she had enough experience to close up after they were done.
Suddenly an old wizard with a long white beard Flooed in through his fireplace. Bob could help but recognise the famous Albus Dumbledore. The woman with the pink hair—wait a second, Bob was sure that it had been green just a moment ago—stood up and turned down the jukebox.
Dumbledore got to his feet and greeted everyone in the room. As Bob heard their names, he was amazed by the people who were in his bar. If what Dumbledore said was true, he had almost all of the Order of the Pheonix and the original D.A. in his bar tonight.
Bob shakily made his way to an inconspicuous seat so that he could watch these people, no...heroes.
Gin started pleading with the empty air that Luna was leaning on. Bob wondered for a second if all heroes were crazy because the rest of the room acted as if there was actually a person there.
"...c'mon Harry. Bob won't tell anybody. He's trustworthy. Please? It's your birthday after all."
Luna added a silent plea with her eyes that Bob could see from across the room.
A man's voice coming from that area said, a bit sullenly, "Alright."
There was a shimmer of silvery material, and a tall man with dark scruffy hairwas sitting next to Luna. His bright green eyes and lightening shaped scar were the last things Bob saw before his eyes rolled up into his head and he feel to the ground with a thump.
He woke up to see the woman with blue hair pointing her wand at him and Harry Potter himself leaning over to see if he was all right. Bob opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
"Robert? Are you feeling better now?" asked a dreamy voice from his side.
Bob just nodded.
Gin helped him up and said, "I'm sorry we sprang all this on you, but it's Harry's birthday, and the press are swarming our houses. We were just trying to find a place to have his party in peace.
Finding his voice, Bob agreed to let them have a party. A cake with twenty candles appeared, and streamers were hanging from the ceiling with a wave of Dumbledore's wand.
And Bob sat back and watched as Harry Potter smiled and blew out his candles, opened his presents, and in general just had a regular birthday party. He came up to Bob afterwards with his arm around Luna's waist to thank him for everything.
Bob just smiled back.
Would he have a story to tell at next years Bartender Conference.
Then again, he thought, looking at the bright smiles on such famous faces, maybe he would just keep this one to himself.
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