It was dark when the door opened hours later. Harry peered up from his place on the sofa, huddled under the blanket. He had broken down when Draco left, and ended up curling up into a ball on the sofa. How had something so good turned so bitter, so sour?
Clementine tsked, and flicked her wand at the fireplace, starting a large fire. She set a tray down on the coffee table. "Tea, chocolate ice cream, or firewhiskey. Pick your poison."
When Harry didn't react, she poured two large whiskies and shoved a glass into his hand. "Fucking men, eh? It's enough to make you switch teams, isn't it?"
Her light tone was refreshing, a good contrast to the concerned ones he was so tired of. Harry chugged his whiskey and poured another. "You having men problems too?"
Clementine shot back her whiskey in solidarity. "Yup. Seamus started out great... but then he was so clingy! He was always around, dropping everything to be with me. Such a turn off."
"Yeah, you need a guy who stands up for himself, not a push-over," Harry sipped his whiskey, enjoying the distraction from his own troubles.
"And then Neville...nice, smart, sweet, but lacking confidence in himself..." Clementine sighed, drawing her knees up to her chest, and wrapping an arm around them. "He would dress up so much for our dates, taking me to fancy places, but seemed totally out of his element."
Harry could picture that, Neville nervous and trying hard to please. He had gotten a lot of attention after the war, with people suddenly seeing that he was attractive and had played such a key part. He had gotten better, but his old shy ways were still there. "He's a great guy. Just give him time to get comfortable around you."
"I wish he would just be himself, frankly. Share his interests instead of trying to impress me." Clementine levitated another log on to the fire.
Harry chuckled. "Maybe you need a guy who isn't so 'nice'."
Clementine scoffed, pulling a blanket around her shoulders. "Well, then you get involved with some hot guy and jump into bed way too fast."
That sounded familiar. Harry shifted a bit on the sofa. "Um, well, finding someone you are sexually, um, compatible with, is, um..."
"Really fucking hot?" Clementine finished with a grin. She clinked her glass against Harry's, and downed the shot. She shook her head as she set it down. "I've been there, done that, and it burns itself out after a few weeks. And then what?"
Harry was definitely feeling the effects of the whiskey now. "You are like a modern day Goldilocks with all those guys," he said with a wheezy laugh.
"Yeah, I want a guy who is 'just right'. Not too soft, not too hard."
The comment almost had Harry sputtering on his whiskey. "No, hard is definitely better than soft."
Clementine rolled her eyes at him, but chuckled along. "I want a guy who is confident, knows himself, but still respects me. Someone sexy, funny and smart. Is it asking too much to have all of that in one guy?"
Harry scoffed. "At least you have a good selection to pick from. There aren't that many gay men around my age with all that and also able to handle my, my...," he waved a hand in the air, trying to think of the right word.
"Enormous cock?" Clementine filled in cheekily. "That's such bullocks, Harry. I set you up with dozens of great guys all summer, all fine with your 'fame'."
That was true. Sighing, Harry stretched out, propping pillows under his head to lie the length of the sofa. "Maybe this mess with Draco was for the best. I just needed to get him out of my fucking system. Once I'm over him, I should give those guys another chance."
Clementine was quiet, simply sipping her drink and staring into the fire. She was in a similar position to Harry now, lying along the other sofa with a throw covering her body.
Harry looked over at her, wondering why she wasn't saying anything. "What? You have something on your mind. Just spit it out."
She looked over at Harry, her hazel eyes seeming wise for her age. "Come on, Harry. Are you really so blind?"
He sat up quickly, turning to face her. The movement made him realize just how drunk he was, putting a hand on the arm of the sofa to stabilize himself. "Apparently so."
Clementine sighed, sitting up too and running a hand over her face. "You have been listening to what everyone has been telling you to do all fucking year. Maybe it's time you take a moment and listen to yourself. Ask what you want and what's right for you, for your future. And then fucking do that."
She got up then, taking the tray away with her, which was probably a good thing. He likely would have finished off the rest of the whiskey and gotten even more morose.
Instead, he stared into the fire, her words echoing in his head. He had been making all sorts of changes all year, and what did he have to show for it? A broken heart, trouble at work, and a fucked up public image that was going to haunt him for ages.
He groaned when he thought back on all the embarrassing pictures in the papers the last few months. Could he somehow burn all the evidence and obliviate everyone's minds? Pretend it didn't happen?
Pretend Draco didn't happen?
What would his life be like now if Dante in that damn brothel hadn't been Draco? If he had just been a dom who had sex with his clients? Harry probably would have enjoyed the twelve sessions, gotten more comfortable with his sexuality and figured out a way to come out publicly. Probably just dating some nice guys and riding through the press storm. Probably still working too much and going to all those charity events.
Would he have been any better off with that less bumpy path? It would have been less chaotic, but he would have been blindly following the same old lifestyle. He never would have met Clementine, never dated those good guys in the summer like Brandon, Tristan and Edgar. Would he have had the whole interrogation incident? Would he have reacted the same way to Sera, or would he have been too stuck in work mode to be affected by her? Just passing her off to child protection without a second thought?
He had been blind then, caught up in his old life, just as bad as he was now. What was he being blind about now? What was he not seeing?
...
Harry woke up with a killer hangover. He dragged himself off the sofa, the previous day coming back to him in flashes that made him feel even worse.
This was the very sofa they had first kissed on. This blanket was the one Draco had yanked off him when they started making out. These pillows were the ones they had laid on together.
Wiping the back of his hand over his eyes before the wetness there could fall, Harry pulled out his wand, his hand shaking. "Evanesco," he said firmly, flicking towards the sofa that disappeared with a slight pop. The blanket and pillows were next. The other sofa suffered a similar fate.
Fuck it. Clementine could order new ones. Ones that wouldn't remind him of Draco.
Running up the stairs, he groaned at the state of his bedroom. He had been so busy with Draco, he had hardly been at home for weeks. Usually only to shower and change before meeting him for dinner.
All his newer, fashionable clothing was scattered all over the floor, and the sheets were all twisted from sharing the bed with Draco.
Not thinking too hard, he yanked the sheets off the bed and piled his laundry on top of them. And in a blink of an eye, he vanished the whole pile too. Gone were all those too tight trousers, shiny shirts, and shoes that pinched his feet. Gone, gone, gone.
This felt good.
A long, hot shower was next, and when he wiped the steam from the mirror, he frowned at the array of grooming products covering the counter. His wand vanished most of it. Fuck shaving. Fuck hair pomade.
Grabbing some old jeans and a hoodie, he quickly dressed. Even though so many things that reminded him of Draco were gone, just being in this house still had too many memories. He needed to get away from it all.
Shoving his muggle wallet into his pocket, he ran downstairs and scribbled a quick note to Clementine.
Going out of town. Don't exactly know where. Won't be gone too long.
Buy new sofas & bill me.
H
He apparated into an alley in muggle London, a spot he had used last year to visit muggle gay bars. Paddington station was nearby, and he was on the next train heading west. Destination Anywhere.
...
After a couple hours on the train, he got off at a town with 'Spa' as part of it's name. It just sounded peaceful. He could imagine serenely soaking in a hot spring pool with classical music playing softly. A good distraction from anything Draco.
But as he walked up the High Street, crowds of muggles were everywhere, mostly drunk and loud. Bands were playing amplified rock music every few blocks, and a park had a huge crowd gathered to watch a cricket match, a game Harry found dreadfully slow and dull after the excitement of Quidditch.
Even worse, there seemed to be motorcycles everywhere, and Harry was reminded of the picture of Draco mounting a classic motorcycle that had kept him up nights.
It just became too much to take, and he ducked into a small business just to escape it all. It turned out to be a barber shop.
"Hey there, young man. It'll be about a five minute wait," the barber said, glancing up from working an electric razor over an old man's neck.
Harry swallowed hard, and then nodded, sitting down on the bench near the door and grabbing a nearby newspaper. He figured he might as well get something done with his hair since he didn't have all his hair products anymore.
It was strange being in a muggle space. The newspaper pictures were still, and the advertisements were often for electronics like mobile phones and televisions. Even in this old barber shop, there was an old TV playing a football match, the volume turned down low, and the electric razor's buzzing. Since the war, he hadn't spent much time in muggle areas, except for a few hours here and there. Quick trips to gay bars, or exploring like he did on his Harrod's shopping spree. He didn't do these type of normal muggle things.
"Alright," the barber said, jarring Harry's attention away from his newspaper. He hadn't noticed the other customer leaving.
He sat in the chair, and the barber draped a black cape over his clothes, closing it snugly around his neck. Harry pulled off his cap, his damp, messy hair going everywhere. He ran his hands through it, getting it out of his face with a rueful expression. "Um, yeah, I used to wear it in a pompadour, but I want something easier to style."
The barber was likely in his late 50s, and didn't ask more before wetting Harry's hair down, and sectioning it off. Before he knew it, the electric clipper was buzzing along his skin.
Harry just shrugged to himself and watched in the mirror. He was ready for a big change. One less thing to remind him of Draco.
By the time the barber was working on the top with a pair of scissors, he had mellowed out from being in the loud town. "So, is it always so busy along High Street? The crowds, the music..."
The barber beamed, his bright blue eyes meeting Harry's in the mirror before he looked back at his work. "Oh yes! Cheltenham is known as a Festival Town."
"That's right!" A younger man chipped in, another customer who was waiting his turn after Harry. "I came in to go to the Hog Roast tonight."
Harry tried to keep from grimacing. Great, more loud crowds. "Um, that sounds fun. Is there something going on with motorcycles too? There seems to be lots around."
The barber seemed to be cutting off most of his hair, making big chunks fall on to his cape-covered lap. "Yes. A classic motorcycle festival, but there's also a Beer and Wine festival put on by the Cricket Club this weekend."
"Oh, I should maybe have picked somewhere else to visit then. I was hoping for a quiet getaway," Harry said softly, more to himself than anything.
The barber looked a bit surprised. "You just came here on a whim, when there's two festivals on? How did you get a hotel room at the last minute?"
"Oh, um, I didn't actually, um..." Harry looked down, feeling even worse. He just didn't have the energy to deal with more today.
The other customer was clicking madly on his phone. "Wait, I think I found something in a nearby village. It's a pretty quiet place."
Harry shot him a grateful glance. Those mobile phones were muggle magic. "Can you reserve it for me? I, um, lost my phone."
The younger man gave him a commiserating look, like this was quite a tragedy. "Sure, mate. What's your name?"
"Um," Harry thought frantically for a muggle-sounding name. They were usually blander than wizarding ones. "Dean Thomas."
A couple minutes later, the man passed Harry a piece of paper with the name and address of the inn on it, along with a 'reservation code'.
Harry read it over. "The Cheese Rollers Inn?"
"It's named after an ancient local festival done each spring, rolling a 5 kilo wheel of hard cheese over a cliff, with a few dozen idiots almost killing themselves to chase it," the barber said with obvious censure. He was now working a tiny bit of product into the hair remaining on the top of Harry's head.
This started a heated debate between the young customer and the older barber, fighting over whether the festival was idiotic and should be cancelled. The customer even found a video to show Harry, with slow motion footage of many people falling ass over tea kettle down a steep hill in a way that seemed extremely painful. The young man still seemed in favor of the event, despite this.
Harry was a bit surprised when the barber whipped the cape off and told Harry the price of his cut, he had gotten so involved listening to their discussion. He tipped generously, and thanked the other customer for the hotel reservation.
The crowds were still everywhere, possibly even drunker and louder. Harry cringed at this, and looked down at the paper with the inn address. It sounded like he could eat a good meal there, but doubted if the small village would have many shops. He spotted a Marks and Sparks, and went inside to get a change of clothes.
After the glamour of Harrod's, the ancient department store seemed bland and antiquated. But as he walked through the menswear area, he ended up gathering up several basic pieces that would mix and match easily. He tried them on in a change room, and found everything fit fine. He ended buying almost all of it, shrugging to himself that he needed some clothes after vanishing so much earlier that day. Thinking of that, he stopped by the bedding department and got some new sheets.
It was a quick taxi ride to the village. The pub was only half full, and the quiet atmosphere was a relief. The inn was likely around 200 years old, with only a few tiny guest rooms on the second floor. Harry was quite happy to have a room to himself.
In the bathroom, he freshened up, and stared at his new haircut, trying to get used to it. It was buzzed quite short on the back and sides, with it only slightly longer on top. The barber had tousled it with minimal product, so it still felt soft and actually moved. It looked pretty tamed and made his green eyes seem bigger. It wasn't a modern, fashionable cut, and Harry could almost hear the snide comment Draco would make about it.
Fuck it. It was Harry's damn hair and he'd do whatever he wanted with it.
Heading out of the room, he went down to the pub. He realized he hadn't eaten anything all day.
...
It was a mild fall evening, and Harry carried his pint outside to sit on a wooden bench in the back garden. There were several picnic tables scattered across the grass, with their patio umbrellas closed up tight for the night.
No one else was out there, and a mild breeze kept the mosquitos away. His belly was full and he was working on his third lager, so feeling much more mellow.
It had been good to get away from Grimmauld Place. He thought back to drinking all that firewhiskey with Clementine, and her vague comments at the end. "Ask yourself what you want and what's right for you, for your future..."
He looked down at his glass and scoffed. Well, he wanted to drink a lot less, for sure. He had enough of waking up with hangovers and feeling tired. He didn't bounce back from it as quickly as he used to.
And loud bars...that was another thing he wanted a lot less of. How many nights had he been stuck beside Draco, trying to follow along with a conversation being shouted over the club music, and barely catching one word out of five? It became a bore, and he ended up watching the crowd instead.
He'd already gotten rid of the tight club clothes and dressing to impress Draco or anybody else. Same with his hair. Sure, he had proved he could look like Draco's crowd, fit in, but it was just external. Superficial. It wasn't who he really was.
Was it really, truly Draco, or was it all for show with him too? Had he not dressed like that in the spring because he couldn't afford it, but really wanted to? He grew up rich, having the best of everything. Had he missed it? Or were the tight, sexy clothes just part of his rebel bookseller persona? Part of his act?
Would Draco keep this up forever? Or would he calm down in a year or two when the bookstore was well established? How involved did he want to be in it, day to day?
The Draco Harry knew in the spring was passionate about books, reading, ideas. He hadn't seen that passion as much in Draco lately.
Did Harry even know Draco now? Did he even like him?
As Harry slowly sipped his drink and listened to the soft noises of the country village at night, he thought everything over. His job, his house, his charity work, his friends. His future.
By the time he got up to head upstairs, he knew what he needed to do.
...
Harry sighed as he apparated back into his own bedroom. The first thing he did was put the new sheets on the bed, and hang up his new clothes in the closet. He tidied up a little, leaving the room in better shape than it had been in ages.
One step at a time...
Taking a deep breath, he went downstairs. Clementine was working in her office, and as he went through the drawing room, he noticed it was still mostly empty. No new furniture yet.
Clementine looked up when he appeared, and about a half dozen expressions flitted across her pretty face. Relief, concern, hurt, tiredness, wariness. He felt bad about some of them, like making her worry by being out of contact for a few days, and tiredness from taking on much of the work of the upcoming gala. The wariness he couldn't really understand.
"Harry!" Clementine rushed over, giving him a hard, long hug. His heart squeezed a little at that, and he returned the hug just as hard. When had this little firecracker crept into his heart? She felt like his cousin now, another Weasley for his collection.
Her large hazel eyes were equally warm and concerned when she pulled back, looking over his haircut, the scruff of whiskers and casual clothing with a quick, all-seeing scan. Her perusal of his face made some of her concern ease.
"The time away seems to have done you some good," she finally said, moving back to her desk and shuffling through some files. "Sit down. You aren't leaving until we decide about twenty things."
Harry grinned a little at her bossy manner, and took a seat. She launched right into the overall plan for the gala, and Harry was impressed with how much work she had done. Her judgment was good, only needing a few tweaks from Harry.
A solid hour later, Harry leaned back with a stretch. "So, I'll work on my speech and get new dress robes. Anything else urgent on my side?"
Clementine scoffed. "Yes! The name! You insisted we launch the charity's name at the gala, and I need to get information packages prepared by the end of the week."
The name was something Harry and Clem had been debating for months. It needed to be original, and somehow capture the full scope of eventual activities the charity would cover.
Harry nodded. "I'm still working on that too. I'll have it to you by tomorrow morning."
Getting up, Harry paused at the doorway. "You have done an incredible job with this, Clementine. Truly."
His smile was warm and genuine, and Clem returned it easily, seeming touched. But then her smile faded. "Um, Harry, before you go..."
His good mood dimmed at that, and he could feel his chest tightening with nerves. This was what she had been wary about, and it must be bad to affect his unflappable assistant this much.
He sat back down, and braced himself, more mentally and emotionally than physically. His energy, his attitude, could easily spiral right back down, leaving him unable to leave his bed for a few days. He knew it was all a fragile facade for now, and he would get stronger every day, build himself back up.
He lifted his chin, and nodded.
Clem looked regretful. "Draco came by the house."
Harry closed his eyes for a moment, taking that in. "When?"
"Every day. He wouldn't leave until I answered the door. He wasn't happy I had no idea where you were, or when you'd be back."
Swallowing hard, Harry tried to hold himself together as he turned his face away. Looking towards the window but not seeing anything.
So Draco wanted to see him. To what? Fuck? Talk? Fight? What was the point of any of that? Just the thought of it made Harry feel exhausted.
He sighed, looking back towards Clem, but not meeting her eyes. "Fine. I'll send him an owl. Let him know I'm back and safe. Let him know not to show up here again."
"Harry...," Clem said, moving to sit on the chair next to his, and taking his hand. She usually wasn't like this, and he stared down at their linked hands in surprise. "You can't just ignore him. Talk with him, even if it's too officially end things. You both need that, at least."
It sounded like a recipe for a shitload of pain and emotional torture. He shook his head.
"I am barely getting through each day as it is, and I just need to get my shit together for this gala. It's too important to fuck it up," Harry pulled his hand from hers, and walked quickly out of the office.
...
He almost wanted to escape again, get lost again, but knew he couldn't. Maybe after the gala, he would take an actual real vacation. Walk barefoot on a sandy beach with waves lapping at his ankles.
Now, he went to his study and pulled out some parchment.
Draco,
I'm back and safe.
I'm still very hurt and confused and need time to sort everything out.
Please give me time to do this.
H
There. Hopefully it would be enough to keep Draco off his doorstep. He sent it by owl before he could overthink it.
He tried working on his speech and the charity name, but nothing was flowing. With a frustrated huff, he dumped floo powder in the fireplace and was soon gone.
...
"... Death searched for the youngest brother as years passed but never succeeded. It was only when the third brother reached a great age, he took off the Cloak of Invisibility and gave it to his son. Greeting Death as an old friend, they departed this life as equals," Harry read aloud, and smiled down at the three children curled up in a big upholstered chair.
Timothy grinned. "Again! Again!"
His older sister rolled her eyes. "It's too long to read again, stupid."
The other boy watched the siblings squabble, his eyes seeming more alert than the last time Harry had seen him, but his skin was still pale.
Harry stood up, putting the book back on the bookshelf. "Maybe next time. How about we draw our own ideas from the story instead?"
The siblings liked the suggestion, racing over to the craft station to get working on colorful paper. The other boy was slow to move, and Harry stayed with him.
"Do you think an invisibility cloak could really help?" Alister asked, looking up at Harry like he knew everything.
Harry shook his head. "I think it is just a myth, unfortunately."
Alister seemed to accept this, going to work on his own version of the deathly hallows.
Tatsuo waved at Harry from the doorway, and he went over to her. "It's my coffee break. Want to join me?"
Agreeing, Harry said goodbye to the kids, and walked with the pediatric nurse down to the hospital cafe. They caught up, talking like old friends. Harry had been by at least once a week, despite everything else happening in his life.
"I haven't seen you out with your boyfriend in the papers lately," Tatsuo commented, as they sat down with their drinks at a table far from others.
Harry felt that familiar chest tightening, and shrugged. "Things don't always work out," he said, trying to keep things vague.
She looked sad for him, but didn't push for more.
"So, have you bought a new dress for my gala? I'm looking forward to seeing you in something besidse these scrubs."
Tatsuo went with the topic change, describing her dress and sharing concerns about her relatively new boyfriend's dancing abilities.
Harry chuckled. "I'm pretty awful too, and more eyes will be on me than on him!"
He knew he would have to look confident and outgoing all night, no matter how he felt. Pump out positive energy and get everyone enthused about the cause, eager to donate. It was worth it.
"You have been to so many of these events, you will do well, Harry," Tatsuo said calmly, probably able to read him better than most people could because of her job. "But I can tell something is really worrying you."
Usually, he would have waved away the comment. But Tatsuo had grown to be a good friend this year, a smart woman he respected very much. "Well, actually, I'm very stuck on finding the right name for the charity."
He pulled out his paper with his rejected name ideas, going over his concept for the charity. "I don't want it to have my name in it. And my parents' first names 'Lily James', is actually the name of a muggle actress." He had seen one of her movies with Brandon in the spring.
Tatsuo looked at him, her eyes bright. "I have a suggestion, actually. You can use it if you feel it would work, but I won't be offended at all if you go with something else."
...
He got home, feeling much better, and went right to the study to jot down a draft of his speech using phrases from Tatsuo, while they were fresh in his mind. He got so involved, it took Clem knocking on his door to get his attention.
"Oh, it's you! Listen to this...," Harry jumped up, pacing excitedly around the room as he laid out the charity name and the idea behind it.
Clem gave him a stiff, small smile. "It's perfect, Harry."
His eyebrows drew down. "Then why aren't you more pleased? Has something else happened?"
She sighed. "Yes. Draco came by again while you were out, even more insistent about seeing you."
Harry clenched his teeth. "I sent him an owl! Told him I needed time and space, so he rushes right over? Typical!"
"He looks really, really bad, Harry. Can't you just talk with him quickly?" Clem pushed, looking uncomfortable at being stuck in the middle of all this.
"No! There's no way I want to see him now. Maybe not ever again."
The words spilled out of his mouth, and he felt as shocked as Clem looked at him. Was it truly over between them?
Clem sighed. "Well, that's too bad, then. The only way I could get him to leave was to give him an invitation."
"You gave a man who drinks like a fish and loves to make a spectacle of himself, preferably in the tightest clothes possible, an invitation to my formal gala for a children's charity?" Harry could only stare at his assistant, aghast. "The charity will launch and crash the same night."
"He promised to behave, Harry," Clem said, rolling her eyes at Harry's dire predictions, before leaving.
He won't come.
Some small voice in the back of Harry's head whispered that, and he sat bolt upright, grabbing ahold of that glimmer of hope. "Yes, yes...," he sighed, looking back down at his speech.
Draco may want to see Harry, but he loathed formal, stuffy charity events, and had mocked them often to Harry in the past. Besides, Harry would be surrounded with people and busy all night. Surely Draco knew it would be futile to come and hope to actually have any time with Harry. Especially if Harry was actively avoiding him.
The more Harry thought about it, the more he knew he was right. Draco would have taken the invitation, but he knew it would be useless to come. He'd only come if he wanted to shock people and drum up more press coverage, but Harry doubted even Draco would go so far as crashing a children's charity event for that. He had worked hard on his own public image, and trying to stir things up with Harry like that would be a big mess for both of them.
But Clem's words kept repeating in his head. He looks really, really bad... As much as he was trying to avoid thinking about Draco, a part of him was worrying about him. Was he feeling as crappy as Harry was?
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck...
...
-Cheltenham: "is a regency spa town and borough on the edge of the Cotswolds, an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty in Gloucestershire, England. Cheltenham has been a health and holiday spa town resort since the discovery of mineral springs in 1716 and has a number of internationally renowned and historic schools." (Wikipedia). The population is around 117,000, and it's about two hours northwest from London. "The town hosts several festivals of culture, often featuring nationally and internationally famous contributors and attendees, including the Cheltenham Literature Festival, the Cheltenham Jazz Festival, the Cheltenham Science Festival, the Cheltenham Music Festival, the Cheltenham Cricket Festival, and the Cheltenham Food & Drink Festival. In steeplechase horse racing, the Gold Cup is the main event of the Cheltenham Festival, held every March."
-Cheltenham Spa railway station: 'The official name of the town is simply Cheltenham, but, when the station was renamed in 1925, the London, Midland and Scottish Railway chose to add Spa to the station name.' (Wikipedia)
-Cheltenham Cricket Club has held a wine and beer festival early September for 10 years, featuring cricket, live music, beer and wine tastings, and a Curry Friday, Hog Roast Saturday and BBQ Sunday.
-Cheltenham Festival of Bikes is also early September, with over 100 classic motorcycles displayed in the town hall, along with award-winning custom bikes, choppers and race bikes.
-Shurdington: This is the village where Harry stays, about 5 km from Cheltenham. It's population is about 2000 people.
-Cheese Rollers Inn: Built in 1856, it was registered as an 'alehouse' in 1891 under the name 'Cheltenham Original Brewery', and the name changed to 'Cheese Rollers Inn' in 1970s for the nearby festival. History link here. Link to the pub is here. It's only a pub now, with no guest rooms upstairs anymore, so I used some artistic license.
-Cheese Rolling: This festival goes back to pagan times, and is thought to maybe part of ceremonies of the spring. The first written reference to it in 1826 seemed to indicate it was an old tradition. It takes place at Cooper's Hill, with a gradient of about 50% and almost vertical in parts. A hard round of Double Gloucester cheese, around 4 kg (8 lb) is given a one second head-start rolling down the steep hill, reaching up to 110 km/hr (70 miles/hr) by the bottom. Competitors chase after it, and the first across the finish line wins the cheese. Most fall and roll the way down, often resulting in serious injuries that need resulting in serious injuries that need hospitalization. Google: 'Gloucestershire Cheese Rolling - Worst Falls 2018'.