Small and meaningless as it had been, that trip to the bar stuck with her in the days that followed. The time she'd spent in that bedroom gathered in days and weeks, meaning any deviation was a big deal, but it was more than that. She made the decision to leave. And as small as that may have been in the grand scheme of things, so far as her daily schedule went, getting to make that choice herself had been life changing.
So much so that when she got up this morning, she felt in better spirits than the countless days before. That unfamiliar ceiling wasn't as unwelcoming this time around, though it was still the same pale beige and still looked like it'd been there longer than she'd been on this earth, this time its presence was less intense. And it was because this time, her examination of it was optional. Now she'd regained her own will, it was an easier bridge to cross again.
That mindset was of course, the complete opposite to how the voice on the letter felt. But there was a reason why it lay forgotten under the bed while she got dressed for the day.
She gathered her clothes from a few nights previous and did something similar to folding them up. Today was much of the same, a tatty jumper only worn around the house, but it would make due. She had an extreme fashion sense and it was probably for the best that she didn't look like herself.
She brought the knife out from beneath her pillow and paused, turning it over in her hand.
It was almost ironic. The fact that making the decision to leave came as such a big choice earlier, yet today there wasn't even any question on the matter. She knew from the second she woke up that she'd be back down there. Almost like her choice in the matter had actually been removed. Maybe that was just irony nipping at her heels, or the guilty concious causing her to overthink it. Either way, she pushed such deeper meanings to the back of her head. In any case, it couldn't possibly be a worse idea than staying trapped here much longer, debating if she had the strength required to break her skull open with this knife.
She brought it into the back of her jeans and turned toward the mirror, determined to mask it well. Better safe than sorry.
She'd only give herself an hour. Already, she could feel the warm build of adrenaline in her gut, a feeling she'd grown up with and knew better than any other - part anticipation, part excitement and a healthy dose of fear. She smiled thinly as she dressed, amused by herself. She'd spent too much time in the duelling club.
"'Ello Carly, good to see you again!"
The Landlady was back working the bar again. What was her name?
"... my name is Cara."
"Of course, my mistake! Anyway, you just give me a shout if you want anythin' yeah? Ol' Tom left his copy of the Daily Prophet, do help yourself!"
She thumbled a polite expression. Her brightness only served to darken her mood rather than its intended effect. She did exactly as the barkeep suggested, taking the paper from the side of the bar and scanning through it.
She wasn't in any mood for deep reading, but she'd been cut off from civilization for the past few weeks… and nowadays, a few weeks was all it took.
"Nothin' terribly excitin', I'm afraid! Not since the new curfew came in, Diagon Alley has been as dead as a doorknob!"
It was funny she said that - because if she actually let her read it, she probably could have found that out for herself. Why offer someone a newspaper and then not let them read it?
"Terrible for business," she continued on, not taking the hint. "But I suppose that's the way everythin's going now, isn't it? Same as it was last time."
She brought an eye out from behind the paper. The barmaid nodded knowingly.
"You-Know-Who, deary!"
… and back behind the paper she sank.
"Why, this is nothin' compared to the first time he was on the loose, mind! Ruled the wizardin' world from the shadows for years, he did! Couldn't do or say anythin' without them dirty Death Eaters knowing everything about you."
She wanted to say something to that. There was a lot she wanted to say, not all of it appropriate and even less of it was nice.
Could this lady really not take a hint?
"... you should be careful discussing the Dark Lord openly. You never know who could be listening."
Her voice felt unnatural being used. Then she remembered it was not her own.
The barmaid tutted, slinging a pot towel over her shoulder.
"Times are strugglin' I know, but if I can avoid it, I shan't be havin' anything to do with them. I have a daughter, you know? Her best friend's a muggle girl…" she added with a sudden bark of laughter. "Think what kind of example would I'd givin' her if I were to serve the folks who'd want to harm her?"
She shook her head. She definitely didn't have the energy to argue about it.
"... sometimes it's safer to make amends with your enemies."
"Pfftt, what're they going to do?" she scoffed. "Shut down the Leaky Cauldron? Please - England would fall!"
She smirked. A genuine one, for the first time in what felt like forever. She liked this woman's attitude. Her naivety was dangerous, yet amusing. She wished she saw the world more like she did. Maybe that would make all of it easier, then.
"Pint again will it be, deary?"
"... sure."
A hiss of a tap and a moment later a drink was handed her way.
"There you are, my love. That'll be a galleon please!"
She scornfully handed over a galleon. Again, a full galleon for a single pint was honestly outrageous. She took the first sip of it and cringed. It was the most expensive piss she'd ever drank. A bloody galleon. The nerve.
"So, honey… why don't you tell me a little bit about yourself?"
"No."
The barkeep gave a puppy-dog grimace, quite unbefitting of a woman her age.
"Awww come on hun, don't be borin'!"
Annoyance creeped in quickly, but she pulled it back this time.
She'd crept down here to be social and experience a change. She couldn't do that if she kept being so hostile. It had done her no favours in the past and right now this woman was the closest thing to a friend she had.
So, with a deep breath, she cleared her mind and started again.
"... you first."
The woman laughed in victory, clapping her hands together. Apparently, that was all it took.
"I'm Alice Abbot, Landlady, owner and bar staff of the Leaky Cauldron! But you knew that already, didn't you? Suppose… ohh, I was married to my husband for about tenyears, though blimey it doesn't half feel like twice that…'' she laughed. "We split about three years back. Nothin' too bad, just grew apart. But we have two kids together, Hannah and Maurice! They're in Hogwarts right now, one sixth year, one second year, both Hufflepuffs just like their mam! That's a relief, their father was in Ravenclaw, mind - never did like Ravenclaws, stuck up pricks if you ask me… Don't think I even did like them, just mine specifically. What about you, deary? Married?"
She gave a rather sudden snort of disgust - one that actually frightened her, it was so sudden.
"Do you see a ring on my finger?"
Mrs Abbot waved her off with a laugh.
"So not married then… but seeing someone?" she smiled. "Pretty thing like you, surely?"
For a second, her comment almost struck as a compliment. Then she remembered she was wearing someone else's face.
She glared at her, twice. And incredulously, Alice Abbott, Landlady, owner and bar staff of the Leaky Cauldron, actually caught the hint.
"Okay! Okay! Nevermind! How about… oh! What brings you to town then?"
Another sip of the pint. Not as bad this time around.
Still not worth a galleon.
"Business," she swallowed.
"Yessss, but you can be a bit more specific than that! Go on love, I won't tell!"
She glared at the woman. She wanted to be social, but talking about herself was too far. How did she turn the conversation around without just defaulting on telling the woman to sod off?
"... important… classified ministry business…" she said after a moment.
The whites of Mrs Abbotts eyes grew large and she put a hand over her heart - for a second she thought she was in danger.
"Oh, Merlin's Beard…"
She began to fan herself dramatically and leaned in with a harsh whisper.
"Are you an Undesirable?"
She stared blankly at the woman.
She opened her mouth slowly, trying to piece together a response - when Mrs Abbot slammed her open palm onto the table, creating a bang loud enough to make her flinch. With the sudden rising and falling of her chest, it was clear this wasn't a bit, but she was taking herself seriously.
"My lips are sealed, totally and completely!" she motioned, zipping her lips in a pantomimed way. "And if you need anythin', anythin' at all, you give me or Ol' Tom a shout, okay? What's going on? Is there a stake out going on? Is it Florean Fortescue's? No! I BET it's Jake Scamander's Menergie isn't it? Is it? I've been saying for ages they've not just been transportin' hay in those crates!"
She jabbed her hand into the air, silencing her. Letting her go on with herself any further seemed cruel. Plus, it was annoying.
"I'm not an Undesirable."
In an instant, the woman deflated.
"Awwh, that's a shame. Thought I was on the brink of some scandal then…"
She shrugged casually, disappointed.
It was a mystery how this woman had as much energy as she had.
Then, incredulous, there was a squeak of wood and the door to the bar opened. She and Mrs Abbott turned identically - an older couple entered, the man holding the door open for, presumably, his wife to follow. They both smiled pleasantly in their direction.
"Ohhh, it's the Gideons. Be right back, dear."
She watched Mrs Abbott serve the couple. They were both easily in their seventies, but seemed in good shape. The man must have been hard of hearing, as Mrs Abbott spoke a lot closer to him than his wife. She wasn't close enough to hear what they ordered, but her eyes followed them as they were served their drinks and went to sit in a dusty corner.
She wondered what they thought of this whole mess. If her estimations were right about their age, they'd have lived through it twice by now. She was on the brink of twenty five and was already sick of it.
So much had happened in the few years that followed Hogwarts. The return of the Dark Lord and the mass breakout from Azkaban. The Minister and most of the Ministry refused to believe it, cue Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter serving as dissenting voices.
When the first few disappearances had been reported, no one had connected them with Dumbledore's stories. It was true that several important people had been attacked in the summer - but they were all unrelated, and the Auror Office would find them in no time. That was what the papers said, so it must be true. The smear campaign continued until the Dark Lord himself appeared during the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, then it all came out. For over a year Death Eaters - or at least, sympathisers - were bribing and blackmailing key members of the Ministry to keep news of their return secret. And in the head start the Ministry had given them, the Death Eaters were able to rebuild their forces without detection or hindrance.
And that was when she came back to her life. She had cried many times before - heartache, failure - but thus marked the first and only time she'd cried from happiness. The relief that after all those years, the two of them had been reunited. Kidnapping, torture, and murder of wizards, witches and Muggles began anew, all for the greater good…But that was all just background noise to her, though. She'd do it all again if she had to. All that mattered now was they were finally reunited.
And then they weren't.
She didn't like thinking about it now, but some part of her knew she had to. The happy memories shouldn't be violated by the bad ones. They were all she had left, now.
She'd grown soft. She'd spare those who weren't supposed to be spared and found herself standing for those with no voice. Her feelings lingered on the irrelevant and that was exactly where it had landed her - irrelevant. In limbo. Neither living or dead, just existing. Existing in room fourteen of the Leaky Cauldron and had been for as long as she could remember. She didn't know what the next step was from here. Her fate was in other people's hands and she hated it.
"There we are, sorry about that. Lovely folk, the Gideons are."
She nodded, so far from the bar that she hadn't realised Mrs Abbott had reentered her vancity.
"You don't talk much do you, Cara Harkness?"
"I don't."
There was a time, not too long ago, where she was begging for this kind of help. But that time had passed. Her damage had healed. Now she was here. She wasn't running from the room because she was bored of it, far from it, she wanted a break from her newly found, painfully peaceful life. She was running from it because she had the choice to. She had made the decision to come down into the pub. Decisions, big ones like that, she'd lost the right to, after getting herself into the mess that she had.
Solemn, she brought her pint glass back to her lips. She was used to its taste now.
"Your kids… They pure blood?"
The barlady looked confused. Whether this was by the nature of her question, or the fact she was attempting conversation at all, she couldn't tell. But Mrs Abbott mulled over the question, slinging a dishrag over her shoulder and bringing her hands to her hips.
"Somewhat. I'm half-blood, see, but their Daddy's family is part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. You heard of it?"
She nodded.
"So, I reckon they're safe from these extremists goin' about. That ol' Sacred Twenty Eight trump card is practically a free pass. Me on the other hand… Well, I've got ways of protectin' myself. If I go, Leaky Cauldron goes… What's their blood got to do with it, anyway?"
"You want my advice?"
The barlady offered a stifled laugh and for the first time, she saw her confidence waver.
"Depends what that is."
She looked at her intently.
"Stay on their good side. Even if it feels like a betrayal… no principal should be more than your family's safety."
As she finished, a moment of silence passed.
She took the time to take another swig from her drink. Apparently, whatever Mrs Abbott had been expecting her to say, it wasn't that. The woman's eyes narrowed, unsure, then she cocked her head to the side.
"Suppose you got a point there…" she said quietly.
"And be more careful who you speak to," she continued, frowning. "I could have been anyone."
That kicked her back in gear. The barlady laughed joyfully, dismissing her with a knowing wave.
"Nah. I reckon I'm quite a good judge of character, I am! Always can spot the goodens from a mile off."
"You need your eyes checked."
She gave a showful wink that went unreciprocated.
"Well, I appreciate your kindness, deary. And I shall take what you say on board. I can't say it'll have much of an effect, but consider yourself heard. Now enough about all this depressing nonsense! It's about all I get these days!"