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I always liked routine. I suppose I never found boredom very boring.

John Green, Paper Towns. 

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alastor moody‌:

It took everything Alastor had not to laugh at the fragile frame of the fierce redhead from the Three Broomsticks as she, quite literally, ran into him. He’d not moved at all, not even a flinch but the poor thing had nearly taken a tumble backwards. On instinct, his hands shot out to steady her- and the basket she’d been carrying, only a few items falling out from the impact. 

“I have that affect on people.” He replied with a grin, leaning down to press a kiss to the side of her cheek by way of greeting before bending to collect the few things that had spilled, placing them back in her basket. “Busy night, I’m guessing?” The bar was always jam packed full of people, if it weren’t the Three Broomsticks, it was the Hogs Head, though Madame Rosmerta’s place was certainly more inviting for the common folk.

“I’ve been trying to get in for a Firewhiskey all night, though somehow, I haven’t been able to close the distance between here and there.” People kept stopping him, pulling him in another direction, distracting him from his mission of seeing an old friend on a rather joyous night. Another chuckle escaped him as her hand lifted to rub at the bridge of her nose… 

“Are you ok? Nothing broken, I hope…”

          " A madhouse. "     There was affection in those words, as she accepted the odds and ends he'd rescued, an affection that went bone deep. Exhausted, yes, but gratified. The Broomsticks was very old establishment with lots of moving parts -- human parts -- and to be honest on nights like this it felt a bit like fighting tidal flood with a child's beach bucket. But there were worse problems to have than more demand than supply. The opposite complaint, for example.        " Wizardom itself has come a-calling. I've half of Puddlemere United under my roof. Such strapping lads. Dot's floating. "

Her hands left her face in favor of dancing light assessing touches over comestibles. All jars unbroken and eggs uncracked and she is same no-worse-for-wear condition. A few bruises to an apple or two, but,     " Nothing all the king's horses and men can't put back together. "  

His admission of waylays and distractions sent her attention briefly out into the festivities in full swing. The bobbing apple crowds brushing density and barks of watery laughter or bellows of lilting instructions gave testament to how difficult it would be to get from point A to Z without interruption from the alphabet of things between. The populace was politely deferential to individuals with clear business on display, though. Like rocks thrown into stream, the river of Hogsmeade's foot-traffic parted obediently around them.

" Since you're having such trouble find your way to my doorstep, allow me to be your armed escort. "      Empty armed went without saying; Rosmerta tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow and then extending grocery basket in wordless request for him to take up the burden of carrying it.

Let The Games Begin

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sirius black‌:

He couldn’t keep himself from going into The Three Broomsticks, the warmth that radiated from the pub was inviting as ever, if not more so, due to the temperature. But, beyond the ambiance of the place was the people that came to it for solace. You could find all kinds there, seeking warmth and comfort that came with a butterbeer in their hands and a story on their lips. 

The chatter had risen to a roar as the pub was as full as Sirius had ever seen it – though usually he was stopping by at odd hours for a pick-me-up after a tough assignment, so he didn’t normally see the pub at max capacity. He stood towards the walls, knowing that one false step could end up with a wand in the face and a beverage spilled on his clothes, and those robes were brand-new. 

As his eyes took in the various scenes around the room, they fell onto his very favorite red-headed barmaid. She looked a bit scattered, and her focus didn’t seem to be on the customers closest to her, but he could see that her eyes kept wandering to something happening in a corner that Sirius couldn’t quite make out. He sauntered over, taking the last empty seat at the bar,

“Rosmerta, darling, surely you’re completely full tonight. Good for business, this holiday, isn’t it? Not as good for nerves…” But, she’d misunderstood him, thinking that he was seeking lodgings – really, he’d probably be out in the square all night, making sure the evening’s stragglers behaved themselves… oh, the irony. 

At her request to kick out one of her surely well-meaning customers, Sirius started, turning to look at the rather unruly fellow to whom she was indicating. “Oh, that one. I’ll get rid of him for free, love. Anything for you. But what’s he done? Anything I can catch him on?” Keeping the peace, after all, was his job. His plan wasn’t to lie, but just make sure the man knew that what he had been doing was positively unacceptable behavior. He rolled up the sleeves to his violet robes, wand gripped tightly in his hand. Before he moved, however, his eyes flickered to Rosmerta – a dog waiting for his master’s signal.

            " Besides being the human equivalent of garbage on a hot day? "       she said with spring-mild drawl, distaste for the bold as brass man apparent in the tooth to her consonants, the set of her shoulders and the languid way her nails scrapped absently at the edge of the bar. A tip of the head, canting almost imperceptibly ( calm and still, forever economy of movement, that susurration of skirts that moved about her like breezes ) toward the pretty young waitress doing her desperate best to put as much crowded space between herself and the blacklisted source of Rosmerta's discontent.

" Indecently harassed my Meg. "   It was an fact of life that the holidays encouraged large groups of people to drink and, with that drinking, become more publicly rowdy. Some only needed the excuse of the happy crowds to become more of a nuisance and it had been like that forever. She could be the soul of patience but lines were line were lines and he had brushed her irritation into bristling anger.    " I'd have every Auror that's ever had yen for a drink after him, but she's embaressed to make a big to-do. And so,"

And so, Rosmerta would respect her wishes for subtly. And so, the ever resourceful woman finds other means. And so, she relies on bright eyed, cheeky young hero. Sirius' intentions he wore starkly, painted against the shield in-hand a knight might carry into battle: famed for it, cast down and out for it, renowned for the haphazardly efficient way it came with no grace at all, for all his seeming frivolity she knows this young man's intentions were boldly, badly good and could be counted on.

And so,    " I'll leave it to you, mhuirnín. "    Spoken with the satisfied confidence of ruling lady tying favor round champion's lance.

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marlene mckinnon‌:

It’s an old haunt, The Three Broomsticks, the exact kind of place you’d go to if you’re looking to both be found and lost – and for Marlene McKinnon, who’s been doing all within her power of late to find herself fit for form once more to a life that she LOATHED, maybe she needs a little bit of both, tonight. Part of this is poor planning on her part, she’s come both on an impulse and a whim, acting out, perhaps, because the newfound collars she’s been made to wear in the name of The Order feel too restrictive… a fact that she fears to share even with those who are nearest, dearest; after all, she’s the one who volunteered for this, why cry regrets now, when the game’s already afoot, and lives are the bet you’ve put down?

Still – the atmosphere feels ALIGHT with what she remembered best from her school days, when she’d been young and testing potions just to gain access to illicit drinks, to celebrate all that was glorious and terrible about youth on nights they could hardly remember, but with hangovers that haunted them still. The noise is at deplorable levels, but everywhere is the same on this oh-so-hallowed night, Marlene slipping, quiet like a shadow, among the crowds. Students mill, signs of a more innocent time, in school robes and scarves that flutter about them, gaily, singing their own spirit songs that she could recite from memory, wistful stares exchanged before she pushes in further to find Rosmerta, darling Rosemerta, the wheat strained of the chaff.

“No more room?” she could always take off to some other inn to take of residence, use her parents influence to wrestle forth, or at the worst case, stumble home after a few rounds with old friends, the one before her, included. But Mars wasn’t really looking forwards to going home to the flat she’s renting now within London, markedly alone, for the first time in what seemed like EVER. But it’s better cover for what she’s volunteered herself up to do, but ah, how naive she was about the art of war. “Well. Consider this a deal.” Marlene winks; and maybe that’s a bad sign, but she’s off before the other woman can pay protest, her heels clipping, smart, against the creaking floors.

A hand at the shoulder – a sly little smile. Mars has played all kinds of roles within her life, the savant, the darling daughter, the slut, the party girl. Right now she knows from a glance that he’s the type that likes ALL THREE, repulsive, yes, but perfect for a trap to be baited with. “Do you have a smoke?” wide blue eyes, the mischievous tug of her lips, upwards. “I’m in desperate need for good company, and everyone here just seems so… dull. But you.” that moment, paused – words hanging in the air. “Seem perfect. Shall we?” 5 minutes of her time, and then the reservation would be hers.

                Affirmation in the way she turns one palm upward, outward, startle-white fingers extended like an apology, like a dancer might stretch. An out of her hands gesture that says busiest night of the year, what can one do. She doesn't much like turning any away, paricularly the faces she's filed away in that rolodex memory of hers after years and years of watching time carve away child-youth from. There's a special place in her port-harbor heart for those who began as knobbly knees bent in at her tables and etched their childhood memories out of Broomstick's wooden bones. Rites of passage, proofs of spirit. Nostalgia roosts here, a permanent resident as sure as the madam herself.

So her proposition. Marlene, of course, up for the dare, though Rosmerta reiterates,    " without a scene, mo stoirín.  "     where single syllable out is dragged over and underscored with affectionate I-know-you chiding and this-is-the-challenging reminder and i'll-step-in-if-I-think-its-needed reassurance. Mere placidity does not make a wallflower of a Venus fly trap cleverly disguised as a hothouse bloom, as evidenced by the scapegrace wink. Rosmerta's response is a cant of copper bright head that was laconic tip of the hat, ace in the hole half-approval from practiced heathen to up and coming sinner.

Meg, watching, tugged at Rosmerta's sleeve anxiously worried that her timidity has sent a lamb into a lion den. She's giving him too much credit and Rosmerta doesn't laugh only out of consideration of sweet Meg's feelings but is far less worried about Marlene getting into trouble than about trouble getting into Marlene. She stood with hip notched against the bar and watched as this not-so-gentleman as hooked and led by the nose.

" Go up and clean out the room, "   she tells her anxious staff.    " He'll be gone before you've finished and we wouldn't want him forgetting his personal affects. "

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evan rosier‌:

Evan didn’t need to stay in The Broomsticks, he had a manor to return to. But he’d worked for decades to appear as a likeable man who fit in with all. That required partying the night away and ensuring lots of people saw and engaged with him doing so. The best way to appear above suspicious was to have others do the work for you. Considering the years of work he’d put into his reputation most of his flourished relations did just that for him. He was, however, nothing if not a diligent performer and the rowdiness of the pub was the perfect stage to put forward an act or two.

So he came to the industrious Landlady with his usual charming smile, the flush of fun already visible in his cheeks, some parts of the act had to be made real after all, and when he heard her news he pouted slightly til she followed up. “My dear Lady, you’d have me be a bouncer for a reservation?” he asked her lightly, an impish grin curling at his full lips. “You know I’d do whatever you asked with no need for a reward.” he bowed slightly and gave her a wink before striding off towards the offender. Perhaps he’d have some real fun later, but right now a little tact and some coin would likely suffice.  

He put a hand on the man’s shoulder and lent forward, whispering lowly in his ear and placing a rather heavy amount of sickles and galleons into his palm. It was tuppence to him. being a member of The Sacred Twenty Eight his family had built up several very lucrative investments over past centuries to ensure money was never an issue. The figure stood and made his unsteady way to the door as Evan made a leisurely way back to the owner of the pub.

“Consider your problem dealt with.” Ever the tactile gent he swept his hand forward to gentle take her own and press it chastely to his lips. “Is there anything else I could possibly do for you, Dear Rosmerta?” It was all for show, the woman was likely serenaded by many patrons over the course of an evening, but he enjoyed flirting.

              Evan's extravagant manners like decanted champagne, expensive for the setting but always welcome. Charm was ever reacted to well and Rosmerta was not the young and idealistic sort who would ask for silly things like sincerity. Adaptable to all comers, able to shift and slide and change between the punters until she was not one thing but another, all the same rounded curves and smile beneath, sugar-thin light layer of change atop but only as long as the rules were adhered to. However, as any barkeep can tell you, bad Knuts turn up eventually.

She watches the room not the conflict, tuned in to the Broomstick's needs like sea-worn captain reaching instinctually for wheel. No threshing waves this evening, thank you; potential storm on the horizon blown itself quietly out courtesy the careful, quiet excising of blip on her radar. Neat. Tidy. Rosmerta cared deeply about tidiness and so as unwanted guest exits stage left and Evan returns center, it finds Rosmerta's natural good mood returned to equilibrium, eyes clear, eyes laughing, eyes the soft blue of sea-things. 

All his antiquated courtesy and offer of further services rendered is received with a smile that managed to convey approval and more than a little amusement without even a twitch toward something other than wry,       " Flattery will get you everywhere, including in the back peeling potatoes. " 

Something sly and smirking and surely-I-jest curls along the words, fingers of one hand weaving but-do-be-careful-what-you-ask-for against the air. Silver tongues proceed with caution; give the lady an inch and she’ll have the whole mile, thank you very much. The pint she'd been carrying is handed off to Dot, called from cross the room by a crooked index. Empty hands sought out key from hook behind bar with the quick confidence of woman who knows place of every little thing within domain's four walls. A fanned hand to beckon him towards the wooden spine of a staircase winding up towards higher floors. 

" I'll show you where the suite is. " 

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open  •  unconventional arrangements

                     Tables emptied and tables filled right up again and the bell above the door jumped and danced and jangled an off note accompaniment to the live band currently lending festive ambiance to Hogsmeade's oldest establishment. The music was a shivering of strings and the glassy-eyed laughter of those who stood with cups and glasses, with honey soaked pastries and braised meat and thought good things of the proprietress, of The Three Broomsticks ( who would come back, perhaps, for the inn found its most loyal patrons on days like these ) and of the night. Meg and Dot and the half-help that came on busy days ( Meg; brown eyes, soft all over, would give out freebies til Easter if they Rosmerta let her ) ducked and wheeled and turned through it all, hanging out mug and smile as directed by their eagle eyed employer.

The lady in question is not hard to find though she is nowhere in particular. She is rarely difficult to locate, all inroads and cowpaths in her little kingdom irrevocably leading to her industrious hands waiting table and her laughing mouth which waits for nothing at all. Ever the broad and beaming sort that only goes grim and pointed during moments when she's obliged to enforce the laws of commerce or common courtesy. Breaks in her bonhomie are few and far between; most who cross her threshold know to leave their trouble at the door, whether they like or not. Of course, there was always the occasional transgressors.

Rosmerta was tolerant of rowdiness; how not in a place where cups ever overfloweth. But this particular gentleman had crossed the boundaries of propriety with his rough talk and simmering aggression. Worse still he'd gotten handsy with soft, downy Meg-of-the-doe-eyes and this was more than Rosmerta could tolerate. She'd been resigning herself to undercutting the festive atmosphere by making a scene to drive the man out ( and maybe break the offending hand for good measure ) when she was distracted by new arrival seeking a room.

    " Unfortunately, love, we're full up for the evening. "    Packed to the rafters, in fact. The only sleeping space left was for someone willing to curl up next to the cauldron with Hector. Her rueful warmth was undercut abruptly by another discourteous shout from her no-longer welcomed guest. A muscle jumped in the corner of her jaw as Rosmerta stiffened almost imperceptibly.  

  " But I'll tell you what, "    Her tone when she picks up the thread of her response is a little sharp at the edge,      " you evict that one "    a fine boned hand's gesture towards the gentleman,     " without a scene, and you can have his reservation. "

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         Hogsmeade wasn't a cozy, leisurely magical cul de sac that evening. It was a delight, a poetry-in-motion of silks swung from erected arch to arch, of lanterns strung seemingly from nothing until they sent soft glow across the streets with the delicate tinge and blush of soft jewels. It was bustling, pulsing, nearly bursting at the seams with locals and transplants alike come out full force for the holiday. They'd crowded into every available point of innterest and establishment available and The Three Broomsticks was no exception. 

Despite learning her lessons from previous years, she had still failed to account for sheer increased volume. Stores had run low. Her visiting patrons were eating her out of house and home. And as she was in the business of housing what was bad for the home was bad for business.

And so an emergency jaunt for fresh ingredients. She was on her way back from the market with with arms full of chilly flowers and fruits and fresh bread, head full of what lay in jars in the kitchen to be quick made in mass quantity. Thus distracted, she'd walked with brisk step full into Alastor's chest just as he turned. Firm grasp on shopping basket kept the worse from happening, though it didn't prevent a bruised nose. One step back restored breathing room and better sight, edged round the fingers that had flicked up to touch the bridge of it.

" Merlin. "    She glanced up at the auror, and one tawny eyebrow arched, humor edging out the surprise of collision.    " I thought I walked into a brick wall. "

Let The Games Begin

Being the kind of male that Alastor is, he often didn’t take too much notice of his appearance. Not in the way the younger ones did. He dressed smart, and in a way that allowed him to take on rogue elements should the scenario arise. Tonight’s event had the taste of danger in the air as he apparated to Hogsmeade, smoothing his dark navy button down shirt back into place upon arrival. In addition to the dress shirt were dark slacks and a thick black overcoat that reached just above his knees. His leather shoes had recently been shined and his hair slicked back in the usual style. Being head Auror at such a high profile event required him to keep up appearances.

Wasting no time in reaching the destination, Moody avoided the chattering crowd and kept to the outskirts, scanning the perimeter for exit points. Kingsley and Edgar were already here and stationed, he nodded to them but held off on his approach. Tonight may reflect festivities but for the Ministry, it was business as usual. Once he had memorized the layout, he moved into his own position near the main entrance. The hustle and bustle of the crowds made him anxious, they always did. Not that you could see it on his face. No, the Auror carried a stoic expresion- as per usual.

Feeling movement behind him, Alastor turned towards to source…

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The Three Broomsticks is a popular inn and pub in the all wizarding village of Hogsmeade and is often frequented by students from the neighbouring Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The inn is often warm, crowded, and a bit smoky, but clean and welcoming.

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This Bitter Earth and On The Nature of Daylight// Dinah Washington/Max Richter

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she was the queen of mourning, and in its depths she would never drown.

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Christina Hendricks

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I closed my eyes and let the water rush over me and I wondered what it would be like to be as soft as water, to make people clean, to quench people’s thirst.

Last Night I Sang to the Monster (Benjamin Alire Sáenz)

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Vogue Italia, August 1995

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39/52 by Eva Merry