Chapter 5
The anniversary ceremony was very nice, if you liked that sort of thing, which Tom tended not to. Best not to dwell, he always thought. Still, folks needed to remember what had happened, what had been at stake in the war. So maybe a tasteful reminder of how much they'd lost wasn't a bad idea.
He wandered around the grounds a bit afterward – beautiful day, it was, and there was no talking to the headmistress at the moment, surrounded as she was by well-wishers and parents and Ministry bigwigs.
Tom hadn't attended Hogwarts himself; his schooldays had come before Hogwarts had been free to all magical British children, and the fees had been far beyond Tom's family's purse. But he'd got a fine magical education as a day student at Lincolnshire Wizarding College, so he had no regrets (defunct now, Lincs Wiz was, which was a pity, but time moved on).
Tom watched interestedly as several small children and their parents threw bits of cheese and bread into the lake, the children laughing and squealing every time an enormous tentacle arose from the water as the giant squid collected its treat. Now he had to admit, that were something he'd never seen at his school.
Finally the crowd thinned out, and Tom turned his steps to the castle. In the entry hall, he found Argus Filch and his cat. Filch must have attended the ceremony, for he was wearing a rather mouldy old tailcoat.
"Headmistress'll be in the staffroom, most like. Not 'er office," Filch said in response to Tom's question, though only after a moment. Filch always parted with information reluctantly, even his bar orders, as if words cost money. He waited a few more beats, then added grudgingly, "There's a big luncheon for visitors an' everyone in the Great Hall in a few minutes. No point in her climbing all them steps just to come right back down again."
He gestured towards an ancient carved door flanked by two stone gargoyles and then shuffled away.
Tom took a breath and knocked.
Professor McGonagall herself opened the door, looking severe but impressive in black dress robes with red tartan edging.
"Mr Weatherbroom!" she said, clearly surprised to see him, and why wouldn't she be? "Thank you for coming today. I hope you found the ceremony meaningful."
"Oh, yes, grand speeches and such," Tom said. "Er. . .I was hoping I could have a few minutes of your time, if you've got 'em to spare?"
"Of course. Please, come in." She stepped back and motioned him into the room. "We'll be comfortable here."
Tom took a quick look around. It did look comfy – a large fireplace, sun slanting in through leaded windows, soft-looking armchairs. A long conference table took up the far end of the room, but the headmistress led him to a sofa in the sunlight.
"What can I do for you, Mr Weatherbroom?" she asked, once they were seated.
Tom had given a lot of thought to what he wanted to say, and now he began.
"Remember last summer, when you came through the Leaky Cauldron on your way to your holiday?"
"I do indeed."
"Now, no reason you should remember this part, but I was about to leave on holiday, too."
"Yes, Miss Abbott mentioned it."
"Well, I went to Skegness. Ever been to Skeggy, Headmistress?"
He couldn't swear to it, but he thought her eyes sharpened just a bit behind their spectacles. "No, I can't say I have," she replied.
"Nice old town. Lots of touristy places, o' course, being right there at the seaside. But once you get off the high roads, there's just ordinary people going about their lives. Maybe dropping into their local of an evening. I stopped in one of them local Muggle pubs one night. The White Oak. Struck up a conversation with the bartender there. Interesting bloke."
"Was he?" She couldn't yet know where this tale was going, but Tom could tell that she was listening closely, her hands tightly clasped in her lap.
"Yep. Very. A brewer as well as a barkeep, he was. A bit unusual-looking. Long, dark hair and an earring. But here's the main thing: he was a wizard. His magic was strong. I could sense it, and he sussed me out, too."
Tom waited, but McGonagall was silent, so he went on, "Now, when a strong wizard chooses to spend his life among Muggles, I figure maybe he's deliberately trying to stay on the down-low, like. Know what I mean? It wasn't none of my business, but I went and asked why he was working in a Muggle pub, and he told me a little story.
"That's all, just a little story. About how his family had been poor, but once when he was just a little lad, his da brung him and his mum to Skegness. They only stayed a few days, in a grotty little caravan, he said, but he loved it. Remembered it all his life."
The headmistress was leaning forward now, her eyes fixed on his face. Tom gave her a minute to let the details sink in, then added, "Said he'd only ever told that story to one other person. An old friend of his from where he used to work."
"And did he say anything about this friend?" She might have been talking about the weather, so neutral was her tone.
"No, didn't say nothing about them particularly. Just that this was one of the reasons he'd come back to Skegness. Because his friend knew that story."
"I see," said the professor slowly.
And Tom thought that she did.
"Well," he said, getting to his feet with a bit of an effort. Squashy chairs could be nice to sit in but hard on old joints to get out of. "Just thought you might enjoy hearing a little bit about my holiday. Being as how we both took ours at the same time and all. "
"Yes. . ." She sounded distracted. "Tell me, Mr Weatherbroom – have other people found this story as interesting as I do?"
"Oh, I've not mentioned it to anyone else. No one at all. We publicans, we know how to keep a close tongue in our heads, most of the time. Other times. . .well, we might tell a story or two. Here and there. If we think someone might appreciate it."
She stood up and smiled then, and it did Tom's heart good to see her look happy.
"I'll be on my way, then, Headmistress. Thank you for talking with me." He held out his hand.
Unexpectedly, for he'd never thought her a demonstrative woman, she clasped it with both of hers and squeezed gently. "Thank you, Tom. Thank you. "
Then she stepped away briskly, the professional headmistress once more. "Will you join us for lunch in the Great Hall?" she asked. "You'll be welcome."
"Thankee kindly, but I'd best be getting back to the Leaky Cauldron. Busy day, Saturday, you know."
He was back behind his bar within ten minutes. Hoping he'd not done the wrong thing.
- / - / -
"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 uncrating the new shipment of Bateman's "Dark Lord" ale.
McGonagall! Leaving his case half-unemptied, Tom hurried out to the bar, straightening his apron and running a tidying hand over his totally bald pate.
"Good afternoon, Headmistress," he said, and he was pleased to see that she looked less pale and peaked than the last time he'd seen her. Had some roses in her cheeks, even. "Gillywater?"
"Hello, Mr Weatherbroom," she said. "No time for a drink, I'm afraid. I have a portkey to catch."
"Your holiday?" he asked, though her shrunken valise and Muggle coat gave him his answer.
"Yes," she said, and looked him in the eye. "I thought I'd try Skegness this year."
Tom felt a little surge of something in his gut and gave her a quick grin.
"Oooh, Skegness," said Hannah. "That's where Tom went last year, didn't you, Tom? Do you know, Headmistress, that he actually spent part of his trip visiting pubs? Can you imagine? Taking a break from your pub so that you can go to a lot of pubs?"
McGonagall smiled. "Whatever makes one happy," she said.
"Aye," Tom agreed. "Well, I hope Skegness turns out to be all you wish for, Headmistress."
"Thank you, Mr Weatherbroom. I hope so, too. And now I'll bid you good day. You, too, Miss Abbott."
She nodded to them both and stepped through the main door into Muggle London.
"Fine woman, the headmistress," Tom said as she disappeared.
"Fancy her going to Skeggy, though," Hannah said. "Isn't it kind of tacky and crowded and always cold?"
"Oh, I don't know," Tom said. "Lots o' folks like it. Skegness is. . .bracing."
All of a sudden, he felt the need for a little celebration. He poured out two tots of Ogden's, pushed one to Hannah, and knocked back his own.
"Not to mention," he added, "it has some of the most interesting bartenders you'd ever want to meet."
~end
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A/N: Thanks for reading! This story was written for the "Hoggywartyxmas" fest on Live Journal. if you aren't familiar with it, check it out - all sorts of really top-notch stories and art.
And there really is a Bateman's "Dark Lord" ale.