It was raining outside. She quite liked the rain, as a default rule. About the only time she enjoyed being in her room was when it was raining. She loved listening to the rain hitting her window and the comforting growl of thunder. It wasn't as anything extreme as that today, just a light drizzle and most of the sound of it was dampened by the largeness of the room. But still, it created a low-riding level of comfort that eased her through her training.
"So, think you got everything, deary? Are you sure?"
She grimaced.
"Of course... What do you take me for?"
This was an awful idea.
An absolutely stupid idea that she needed to back out of immediately.
The Leaky Cauldron looked very different from this side of the bar. The polished, homely look was something exclusive to the consumer. Behind the bar, she could see the mismatch of connecting tubes and wires for the beer pumps, the strewn around papers and miscellaneous bits and pieces scattered about. There were also a hundred plus rules that hadn't occurred to her about the serving of such drinks and food. All of which were currently catapulting around in her head while she tried to understand the basic function of how the beer pumps worked.
"Well, I'm only saying it because you look nervous-"
"I'm not nervous!"
"- and there's really no reason to be! Honestly, it'll be absolutely dead today, this will just be to get you used to being on this side of the bar! Don't worry about it, deary."
She turned her nose up at the older woman.
She went over what to say in her head. Then, she went over every drink they had in stock, which cocktails required what ingredients, the location of every kind of glass they owned and then rehearsed the food menu. She was out on a chance, trying all of this, but she didn't like loosing. She was oozing with talent and potential and it had been wasting away in room fourteen for over a month. Regardless of if she was sure this was a good idea or not, she was doing it, so she would be going it well.
She was going to be the most powerful barlady that ever lived.
If, in the very next moment, they were completely swarmed and floods of patrons came spewing from every entrance, she was prepared for that.
They weren't.
A few hours later and as it in fact turned out, Mrs Abbot had a pretty good call on how her bar worked. Not one customer appeared, which she could admit, wasn't that surprising. After all her thoughtful planning and preparation, she hadn't taken into account the most important thing. She was hiding out here because it was dead. In fact, it reached two o'clock, half way through her trail shift, and the most effort she had done was stressing herself out about the newfound responsibilities she now had.
Except there was nothing whatsoever to do. She spent the first hours pacing like a penned predator. Mrs Abbott would make brief appearances, loudly commentating over her life as though there was a pub full of patrons to hear her. Suppose she was used to a bigger crowd, though.
"You're still being a little too rough with it, deary! A good pint requires patience!"
She groaned.
She'd paid attention to Mrs Abbotts demonstration, but was still struggling to get a good head on her pint pouring. Her third attempt was a little better, but the fourth came out half-full of foam. Still, they were eminently drinkable. And once Mrs Abbott left her alone, she found herself stealing swigs from them. Vile, though they may be, they were free alcohol.
This changed when, a few moments later there was a dramatic whoosh and two people appeared in the fireplace. Spotting them immediately, she straightened herself out, pushing out her chest and tucking in the base of her back. An army was only as good as its uniform, someone once said.
"Good morning, welcome to the Leaky Cauldron."
The two figures, both middle aged male, smiled her way and carried on straight out of the door.
She watched them pass, confused and disappointed.
"They were just using the floo, deary!"
Mrs Abbott had appeared again in the kitchen doorway.
"We get it all the time, unfortunately. A lot of people stop in for a drink on the way, though!"
She frowned, turning back in the direction they had left.
"Do you not charge for that?"
The landlady giggled like a schoolgirl.
"Between me and you," she whispered, "being a public access floo network helps when it comes to the tax Goblins... It evens itself out."
She couldn't argue with that.
"Just nipping upstairs do to housekeeping, you going to be okay on your own, deary?"
She rolled her eyes at the woman.
"Obviously."
She was trying to help - she knew that - but she just couldn't hold herself back when someone acted demeaning towards her.
She looked around the abandoned bar.
True, this was the most time she'd spent down here in one go. But whenever she used to come in as a child… ahem… woman of legal drinking age… it'd always been packed. Or at the very least, used. There was always a crowd at the bar, an odd group of lads at a table, a wretched hag in the corner, it was one of life's consistencies. From visiting with her parents, to her and a date's occasional visits during their school years, all the way up to… Merlin's Beard, only probably about a year ago. All before the Dark Lord rose back up. Before then, you couldn't move in here due to attention. Now, however? What was left was simply depressing.
Supposed they had that in common, these days.
To see her suffering reflected on something else, even an inanimate object like a bar, went a little way to giving her validation. Just the fact of knowing something else was going through the same sort of abandonment and strife she was suffering through… it did something. She didn't know what, and had far less clue if it was helpful or not, but it was something.
She eyed the newspaper on the corner of the bar. Ol' Tom had left it - the illusive other bartender she had yet to meet - and she was fairly certain it was giving updates to a certain Weasleys condition. She avoided it. True, she cared about Bill, and quite honestly did want to hear if his condition had improved or not… But was not prepared to deal with the internal consequences if the news was not what she hoped for.
She was here to start again - new face, new her - and she could not go dragging up her old shit along the way with her.
Interrupting her daydreaming, there was a jangle of a bell off to the side. She saw instantly - through the shadows reflected on the doors window - two patrons arriving. She looked to her side for Mrs Abbott, who she then remembered, was attending to the house cleaning.
Guess it was time to prove herself. She puffed herself out proud, ready to make a point.
As the shadows descended on her she recognised them at once at the same couple that Mrs Abbott had served a few days earlier - what were they called? The Gideons?
"Hello and welcome to the Leaky Cauldron."
"Hello, ahhh… dear," the man said, clearly taken aback.
She bit her lip. She had been beginning to think that she and Mrs Abbott had different ideas of what her "best clothes" were. Given that brief, she'd her donned ripped jeans, burgundy tank top and wrapped a green checkerboard shirt around her waist. It was her favourite combo and her traditional "going out" outfit. Far too late did she realise the skin-tight shirt and peekaboo view of her stomach was probably a good match for her drinking bars, but maybe not here.
Scratching her nose to hide an embarrassed plush, she nodded back at them.
"What do you want?"
The man, a pasty white man with wrinkles one could ski down, seemed to recover from the jump scare of skin he'd received and turned to his wife.
"Right then, Nicola, what will it be?"
The wife, an equally old woman, turned as though she'd been rudely awakened from a slumber. From the state of her - any movement at all was a good sign.
"Same as usual, Graeham!" she said cheerfully.
He laughed in agreement.
"Ahh, yes! Same as usual, please!"
"And the usual is …?"
The elderly man smacked himself gently in the forehead, laughing.
"Oh, yes… Of course, you're new, aren't you? How are you, dear? My name is Graeham and this is my wife, Nicola. We've been something of regulars here for quite a bit! Isn't that right, my lovely?"
She wanted this to run as smooth as possible, which didn't involve having to ask multiple questions. But she hadn't been close enough to them the other day to hear what they had ordered.
They seemed like a lovely old couple, caught up in their own little world… Not a danger to her, definitely. But if they didn't give her specific instructions on what they wanted to order, so that she might be able to perform her task perfectly and impress her boss, she was about to become a danger to them.
"And the usual is…?" she repeated.
The man squinted at her. It seemed to take him a full ten seconds before he registered her question. His eyes light up and he turned to his wife.
"Er, what is the usual, dear?"
The wife, who still looked a million miles away from Diagon Alley, snapped back to attention again.
"The usual… Ohhhh," she cursed. "Merlin's Beard, would you know, I'm not sure!"
She stared at them.
This was fine... Customer interaction was an important part of the job, Mrs Abbott had reassured her of that. This wasn't her fault.
She pulled back the lips covering her gums, flashing them a very high-effort smile.
"Is it a beer? Or a wine?"
The older gentlemen slapped the table, pointing suddenly at her.
"Yes, I rather think that that it is!"
"Which?"
"... pardon?"
She blinked.
"Which?"
Again, he nodded with the utmost authority, laughing merrily.
"Well, yes, actually! She's a witch and I'm a wizard. But, eh, why do you ask?"
Her teeth grinded together.
Was this intentional, now? Bully the new girl on her first day? Whatever their play was - whatever they thought this pathetic display of power over her was - she wasn't having any of it.
Losing her smile, she cocked a hip to the side.
"Which drinks do you want, you imbecile?"
That broke the man's facade. His face twisted unpleasantly and he dropped his jaw at her.
"No need to get nasty about it… lets see, erm…"
Her arm twinged unpleasantly.
"I'm not being nasty," she said flatly.
The man leaned over the bar, squinting to look at the wall-mounted menu behind her. She huffed outrageously, but respectfully moved to the side.
"See, I'm positive I get a pint and the misses…" he mumbled to himself. "She gets whiskey… I'm right about that, aren't I dear?"
"Oh yes, you are, love!" the wife cheered from a few weeks back.
She gave a sigh, reapproaching the money register.
"So a pint of anything and a whiskey?" she reiterated.
The man smacked his hand against the bar again, causing another glare to erupt from within her. Seriously, what was it with Londoners and making loud noises?
"Yes! That'll do us! Yes, thank you!" he cheered.
Finally with a goal in mind, she did her best to rid herself of the nonsense the man and his wife dragged her way.
She had to take a best guess. They barely knew what they were ordering, she doubted they'd recognise if she didn't use their regular brands. She poured the woman a fire whiskey on the rocks - according to Mrs Abbott, that was a popular choice - and a butterbeer for the man. She typed in the equation into the money register and it sprang open.
She handed the two drinks over to the side. As she finally got to look at her first two successful drinks she'd pulled, she was fairly proud of herself.
"That will be three galleons and four sickles."
"Oh, no, no, no! I don't know what this is, but it's certainly not our usual!"
She slammed the register shut.
"You won't tell me what your fucking usual is!"
The two recoilied in shock.
"Now then, now then!"
"We want to speak to the manager!" the wife cried.
"No! You can get fucked!" she shouted back. "I'm not getting in trouble just because you coudn't bloody tell me which drink you - !"
"Cara, honey, stop."
Mrs Abbott had mercifully appeared, but too late to dowse her rising temper.
"No! They won't tell me which drink they - !"
"Why don't you take a break and I'll see to this couple, yeah?"
The toothy grin on the landlady's face was one she'd sported herself not a few moments earlier and she knew at once she was making it worse for herself.
With a huff, she marched away from the two. She exited behind the bar into the kitchen, she picked up a dish sponge and squeezed her fists right around it.
"Fuck sake…" she cursed herself.
She'd fucked it.
This was a chance for something new and she'd only bloody fucked it immediately.
She thought she was getting better. She was here for a change and she'd instantly fallen back into old habits. They were just stupid old people - she should have known better - she'd let herself rise to them. She shouldn't have sworn at them. It was on her. She deserved this pathetic existence if she was really willing to let old people get to her like that.
She didn't deserve this new start. She was just going to fuck it up again, the way she always did.
Taking her anger out on the dish sponge, the rest of her mood began to follow suit. She looked up at the candle-light ceiling, determined to hold back tears.
"Hey, hey, deary, you okay?"
She flinched back rather suddenly - Mrs Abbott had been coming in for a hug, which she avoided.
"I'm sacked, aren't I?"
"Could have been a better first day, not going to lie, honey. But we don't go firing people over one bad interaction. Keep at it, alright?"
"Merlin knows, the Gideons don't half get to me sometimes! Honestly, having them as your first serve is basically jumping in at the deep end!"
"You're not just saying that?"
"Deary, I need to run a business. How about I make you the promise - as soon as your service becomes so unbearably horrible, I'll sack you. And until then, if I say something is fine, it's fine. That sounds fair?"
"Alright. Deal."