She had decided against ending it. No surprises there.

Though her body and mind had recovered from the shock of Bill's attack, it took her a while to reign in her mood. If she'd learned anything the past few years, it was that despite what they may preach, people didn't have time to, nor appreciate, dealing with other people's problems. If she was trying to leave a good impression on Mrs. Abbott - or at very least, continue using her for escapism - then she'd have to leave her emotional baggage upstairs in the room. Merlin knows she'd lost friends because of her problems polluting everything.

A lot of her grievances about leaving the safety of her room had returned and for a while, she regressed back into only leaving for the toilet.

But in the days that passed, her sense came back and she pushed those darker thoughts to somewhere hidden. There was nothing she could do anymore. The past had happened and the only thing she had control of now was how she responded to it. Frankly, the only strong opinion on the matter she had remaining was that if more people had listened to her, maybe Bill's attack could have been avoided. It wasn't an idea she was comfortable with, nor did she particularly believe it, but it reassured her. She had to keep confidence and belief in herself. Without believing in herself, she was nothing.

This forced positivity gave enough confidence that a few days later she was able to eventually talk herself back into venturing down into the bar.

When she reemerged back into the bar, though it felt unfamiliar, she found it as recognizable as always. Abandoned as usual, Mrs. Abbott behind the bar and a crooked man dotting around in the background. That just struck her as fucked up. To have the world as messed up as it was, so much injustice and pain, so many guilty people out there, and yet Mrs. Abbott was still able to find it in her to get dressed, put on a happy smile and go to work in the morning… She didn't know how anyone could handle such a thing. She didn't know if she admired it or despised it.

As she came down the stairs, Mrs. Abbott locked eyes with her and it turned into an awkward stand-off, of sorts. She didn't feel in danger, but definitely uncomfortable under her expression. With their eyes pinned solely on each other, from such a far distance it was a shame she couldn't read her emotions. They stood like this for what was probably only a few seconds, but felt longer, before Mrs. Abbot clapped her hands in delight and ushered her closer.

She swallowed her rising phlegm and coughed her words to life.

"I'm sorry for-"

"Cara! Thought we'd scared you off! I was about to send Ol' Tom up to see if you'd packed your things and snuck out on us!"

That boundless enthusiasm again - she didn't know how she managed it. It almost hit her like a physical blow. She had to pause and take a breath before continuing.

"... thank you for the room service. I never paid for it."

Mrs. Abbott laughed gently, throwing a dish rag over her shoulder.

"Yes, well, that did occur! But I figured whatever happened seemed like serious business, so I thought it best to leave you to it! I will have to chase you up for that, of course! Usually I can let that sort of thing slide once or twice… but the way business has been running lately… almost had to start charging for water!"

She nodded.

"What do I owe you?"

"Two galleons that'll be. Anything else I can get you while the tills open?"

She produced a purse from her jeans and paused, considering. Two galleons actually wasn't that bad for breakfast, considering the price of the beer they served here.. Speaking of which…

She was running dangerously low on funds.

The only money she had on her was simply whatever she'd had on her at the time of her escape. Which, luckily, had been a healthy amount. But living off of pub snacks for nearly a month had taken its fair dent there… she could cover this meal, maybe even a bottle of wine, but after that it would no longer be a 'healthy amount'. And the only way she had of getting more would be taking the trip up the cobblestone and accessing her family vault… which wasn't an option for a number of reasons.

Her family thinking she was dead was one and her being a wanted criminal being another. The rest sort of explained themselves after that.

"You a Quidditch girl at all, Carly?"

"What?"

"Quidditch. You follow any teams or…?"

"Holyhead Harpies."

"Ohhh, I knew there was a bit of personality locked away in there somewhere!"

She stared at the woman.

"Kidding! Kidding! Ohhh, they're a cracking lot, they are. Daughter is obsessed with them! I'm partial to the Wigtown Wanderers myself, but if I wasn't, Holyheads aren't a bad option either!"

The buzzword activated something inside her and she spoke before meaning to.

"Friend of mine plays for them."

Mrs. Abbot's eyes lit up and she paused the wine glass that she was cleaning.

"You don't say?" she asked with an air of shock in her voice.

She brought her purse closer to her and shut down, mentally backtracking as much as she could.

That sly barlady was actually getting her way with her. The nerve.

Reluctantly, Mrs. Abbott seemed to sense this was again treading into cautious territory and clapped her hands together, signaling a change in conversation that she feared she was now permanently associated with.

"Well! Our Quidditch days here are something to see, let me tell you! Half of Diagon Alley shows up for them. Anyone that's not been able to make it to the cup, they always say, Leaky Cauldron is the place to go! The atmosphere is something else!"

Merlin's Beard, this brought back memories. She hadn't had Quidditch at the forefront of her mind in so long. She'd always loved the sport, but admittedly… actually being on a broom was never one of her strong points. The bridge of her nose still sported a faint scar from when she'd broken it, summoning a broom too aggressively in a flying lesson. Instead, she'd just settled for following the sport avidly.

Her hiding out here meant she'd been entirely cut off from the rest of the world for well over a month now, meaning she'd been out of the loop for a while on that front.

"I used to go to every World Cup. Ever since I was a girl. My Mum would always take me… and, when she couldn't, my aunt did."

Mrs. Abbott gave a well meaning awwww, which came across as nothing but demeaning.

"That's nice! Honestly, you get it all the time in here! If there's one thing that can bond a family together it's a good round of Quidditch. Do you play at all?"

Her nose itched.

"Sometimes. I can. I tried out for the team in school, didn't get in but my… erm… friend… did," she answered. "Who won last month?"

"Senegal! And ohh, is this the same friend who plays for the Wanderers? No wonder you lost out in exchange for them!"

She shook her head, displeased with the sudden attack of the memory.

"No. That's Parkin. This was a… different friend."

"Merlin's Beard, you know Skye Parkin?"

"Did. Haven't spoken in a few years."

"What're they like?"

Now that was a question. How did one describe Skye Parkin without insulting them?

"... loud," she settled on, with an undeniable smile on her face.

"Gahh, yeah, that sounds about right! Well, Hannah is coming back over for the holidays, you'll absolutely have to tell her all about that!"

"Sure."

She nodded, in good faith that she was awful with children and couldn't be paid to go near them.

"How do you think next year is going to shape up, then?"

She paused to consider for a moment. Her opinions on Quidditch had been buried under so much shit lately that she had to consciously reminded herself where she stood on it all.

"If Senegal won then it's looking like an all-African final. Unless Japan can pull their finger out and come back from a one hundred and ten to thirty… I hardly think of Africa and go 'best Quidditch World Cup', but I guess they've got this far. Should have been England, but Ivory Coast cheated us."

Mrs. Abbott looked pleased at all that. Indeed, she had surprised herself by how much of an opinion she apparently still had of the sport.

"Mmmhmmm. That's what they're all saying. I think they won fair and square, but that's just me," she waved her hands defensively. "And yanno, I've heard it's going to be much tighter security now, whoever wins. Ever since the attacks."

The Death Eater attack at the last World Cup had definitely put a stain on Quidditch history, Funny how they managed to worm their way into every conversation she had.

Pushing the thought aside, she nodded.

"I'm surprised they're going ahead with it at all. Asking for trouble. Hopefully it is Africa, the Burkinabe is so detached from everything in the UK, it's about the only place they probably could hold it."

Her thought process was broken by Mrs. Abbott slapping her own forehead.

"Oh my, is that how you pronounce it?" she asked incredulously.

Confused, she squinted.

"Burkinabe… ?" she repeated.

The barlady laughed merrily.

"Oh dear, I've been saying Burkababy! Merlin's beard, what am I like!"

Merlin's Beard, curse this woman's good nature. Those were her thoughts as yet again, a guilty smile crept its way onto her face.

The topic of Quidditch, apparently exhausted now, Mrs. Abbott set about busying herself with the bar in front of her. Scrubbing glasses, restocking snacks, rearranging bar mats, it all seemed a little unnecessary to her.

Then again, the longer she spent in this bar the more she was growing to like it. Like it. Not just tolerate it, as she often did. Or despise it, as was the case with her room. She was actually growing to enjoy her little visits down into Mrs. Abbotts perfect little world. It was a homely bar - what she first mistook for shabbiness should have more apt been referred to as lived in. Each bar stool was worn down by a dozen years of patrons, even the pint glasses were the old fashioned type with the handle, the ones you didn't get in the newer places. There were pictures behind the bar of all manner of famous folk, each one posing with, who she guessed, was the current landlord of the time. Newt Scamander stood with a tall blonde man; she recognized him from the Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them books. Albus Dumbledore with the same man, now a lot older. Next along was a striking, Eagle-looking man, posed with an elderly blonde woman and a teenager she unmistakably recognized as a younger Mrs. Abbott. She was a similar build to how she currently was - her attractiveness had translated well into older age.

"Awww, you looking at that one?"

Mrs. Abbot had apparently noticed her interest and ventured back over, admiring the photo with her.

"That was with Jon Pertwee! He was a big forebear of Muggle-activism back in the day was quite a regular here, he did! Course, I only knew him as the bloke off the telly, then. Fully embraced their culture, bless him. We were no different to them, in his eyes. One of the loveliest blokes I ever met…"

Then, with a sadder air about her, she continued.

"... died a few months back. Officially it was old age… but I reckon foul play off You-Know-Who."

At this point, she was itching to take a drink. Such had become a habit of her when presenting with conversation she wanted no part of… Probably why she would go through her drinks so fast here. Unfortunately she'd yet to actually order herself anything, her only money she had to spare going to paying for her breakfast for the other day.

"... Never hear of him."

Mrs. Abbott frowned at something unpleasant.

"Awh no, you must have! Muggle studies, no? Surely he's a topic there! Muggle Ambassador for four years!"

She shook her head plainly.

"Ohh, for Merlin's sake!" she cursed.

"Anyway love, so sorry, got me all caught up in talks of Quidditch and the like. Can I get you anything?"

Apparently her lack of a drink wasn't too far off Mrs. Abbotts mind either.

"Can I buy wine here? To take to my room?"

"Course you can, dearie! Might set you back a bit, mind! We usually charge by the glass."

"What's the cheapest you have?"

Mrs. Abbott hunched over to get a good look beneath the bar, giving a accidental but very good look down her top. She admired the view cautiously for a second before looking away.

"Hmmm… well, we have Celery and Beetroot… Elf-Made, Superior and Ramiel Pure. They're all in the same sort of price range, but I suppose Celery and Beetroot are a couple of sickles cheaper."

She looked into her purse, trying not to let her despair leak onto her face.

"I'll take the Celery and Beetroot."

"That won't be a problem!" Mrs. Abbott sang. "Can I get you anything for right now?"

She chewed her lip. She wasn't opening the wine here - she'd be needing it later if she actually wanted any sleep tonight - which meant she'd have to get something else now.

Annoyed, she brought her purse back out.

"Just whatever's cheapest."

This trip for her mental health was certainly starting to be a costly one.

"Tight for funds, are we?"

"Putting it lightly."

There was a metallic clang of the register and a moment later, a frosted bottle of red wine and a pint of something orange were handed her way. She emptied an uncomfortably large chunk of her purse and handed it the landlady's way.

"Well if you've got the time and fancy keeping yourself busy, signs in the window."

BAR STAFF WANTED

NO EXPERIENCE REQUIRED

LIMITED PLACES AVAILABLE, ENQUIRE INSIDE

The concept peaked her curiosity.

"Thought you were skint?"

Mrs. Abbott gave a long nod.

"Well I was. After the attack on poor Mister Olivander, half the businesses began to pack up and move out. I've never seen Diagon Alley so desolate… about the only ones who are able to make any worthwhile profit these days is those Weasley boys! Had to let most of our staff go in October, we tried hanging onto them as long as we could, but…well… It's just me and Ol' Tom now! And I've only been able to keep him because he works for less than minimum wage."

She arched an eyebrow.

"Why?"

"Well - he lives in one of the rooms, see! So I automatically dock rent out of his wages. Means he gets a cheaper deal here than elsewhere and it's not too expensive to keep him on."

"But anyway - Holidays are coming and even with this recession on, if we get even a fraction of the usual crowd in, it'll be far too much for me and Ol' Tom. And with Quidditch season kicking up not a few months after, fingers crossed we're coming to the end of this downtime. Could certainly use it a bit of luck our way."

"Merlin's Beard, Leaky Cauldron has been open nearly five hundred years, I'm certainly not having it go under on my watch! Imagine that!" she laughed to herself. "Alice Abbott, Landlady, Owner and Destroyer of the Leaky Cauldron! That's certainly not how I'm getting my name on any Witches and Wizards card, no thank you!"

There's worse things to be known as, she thought to herself.

As their one-to-one continued, topics like childhood friends, Quidditch and forgotten muggle ambassadors came and went, but one lingering thought sat firmly at the thought of her head.