A Fight at Hog's Head

The following morning, Hope lay in bed in her bedroom. Staring at the wall, trying to find the will to get up and out from under the covers. She was still angry at Newt for not trusting her, Newt was still angry at her for not talking to him first, and Albus was keeping his distance from both of them.

Didn't his avoidance prove she could handle herself? Albus would never have stepped away if he feared for her safety, yet here they were, spending their time apart.

With a frustrated growl, Hope rolled over and glared at the other wall. Her stomach twisted each time she pictured Newt's expression. The way his eyes had gotten glassy and the way he fidgeted nervously in her presence.

Newt was nervous because of Hope and her temper, and naturally, that realization only made bile rise in her throat.

"I hate this." Hope muttered as she rolled to her back and glared at the ceiling. Maybe she should go apologize- perhaps she'd overreacted. Then again, even if she had, she couldn't say she was the only one in the wrong, and Newt hadn't sought her out yet, either.

Sighing, she sat up, rubbed her forehead, and threaded her hair through her fingers. Maybe Albus was right, and they all just needed some time apart. 

She just hoped it wasn't a permanent separation.

After what seemed ages, Hope forced herself from bed and got dressed. She missed wearing shorts and tank tops on days like these, running about the French Quarter through the muggy heat with the smell of perfectly seasoned crawfish in the air.

From what she could tell, it was stormy today and probably would be most of the day. She usually liked storms, especially at Hogwarts; somehow, they seemed more comforting. Right now, however, she could have used some sunshine to brighten her spirits.

Where would she even go, she thought, as she buttoned her black pants. She wanted some space, but it seemed even in a castle as large as this one, it would be just her luck to run into Newt.

Hogsmeade, she thought as she slipped on a long shirt and tucked it stylishly into her pants. Wrinkling her nose at her reflection, she sighed. She really did miss her closet.

It was as wet and dreary as Hope predicted, but despite the rain and gloom, she continued across the front lawn and toward the bridge that would lead her to Hogsmeade. The first time she'd gone to Hogsmeade was on a broom with Newt.

Hadn't it been much more simple then? Back when she didn't have her memory. When she was able to trust him without question. She hated to think she didn't trust him because that wasn't true. She did trust Newt, but the feeling of him trying to dictate how she approached situations involving her life made her head swirl with unease. He wanted her to be safe, and she wanted to be free of this menace so she could be safe.

The thoughts worried her mind as she blindly walked into Hogsmeade, the trip much shorter than she'd anticipated. A distracted mind made the time fly, she supposed.

None of the usual shops she liked to go into with Newt held any interest today. It just wasn't the same without him. So, she went straight for the Hogs Head, a dingy little pub Aberforth ran when he wasn't with Credence. Though, given Credence's health, he'd resorted to staying in Godric's Hollow for most of their time.

Hope didn't know if he'd be there today, but part of her hoped he wasn't because she needed a stiff drink. Something harsher than sips of warm Butterbeer.

Stepping in, the immediate waft of what smelled like a goat's bottom slammed her in the face. It wasn't the worst she'd smelled, which said something. She sat down at the front, and the unfamiliar face behind the bar relieved her a bit. 

"What's the strongest you have?" Hope asked, leaning her elbows on the dirty surface.

The burly man with no neck and a scar above his left brow grunted before pouring an amber-looking liquid and passing it to her. 

A chortle nearby made Hope glance over her shoulder. In the far corner, three Wizards sat at a circular table, a pile of coins in the center as they took drags from their frothy mugs.

"Sure you can handle that, sweetheart?" One with a shaved head and broken tooth sneered before downing the remaining contents of his tankard.

Hope rolled her eyes. "I could drink you under the table any day." She took the shot and downed it in a single gulp. It was like dragon fire erupted in her throat and down to her belly, but despite the burn, she kept her features unaltered.

The man gave a low whistle. "I like a woman who can hold her liquor."

Her eyes shot to the sky again and rolled over before turning to the tender, passing her little glass to be filled again with that liquid fire he had. It felt nice and warm, making it easier to forget how horrible she felt not being around Newt and Albus.

Screech.

The wooden chair beside her moved backward and down, plopped Mr. Clean, grinning his yellowed, broken-toothed smile.

"You know, you look like you came here for a good time." He chuckled, leaning a little.

Hope turned, seeing a tinge of red. Her gaze not yet turned into a glare but level and rigid. Her jaw clenched as she took another shot between her fingers.

"I'm going to warn you once and once only," she murmured in a low voice, "get out of my space, or I will make you."

The crew back at the table let out a ruckus of laughter, as did the man beside her, whom she heard another man call Darius.

"Is that right?" Darius grinned. "What exactly will you do to make me." Then, his brutal mistake, he put his hand on her leg and clutched her thigh.

Without hesitation, Hope snatched the metal fork from the collection nearby and jammed it into his hand. A spurt of blood launched, marking her shirt with a stain.

"Bitch!" He shouted as he snatched his hand to his body, cradling it awkwardly and spitting at her in a rage.

"Well, that's not very nice," Hope smirked, a new gleeful sensation of excitement coursing through her veins before standing so she had better leverage. Then, grabbing the back of his head, she slammed it twice on the bar's sticky surface.

Darius stumbled away, crashing into another table before falling to the ground.

"Out with you!" The tender yelled. "Both of ya! You brought it on yourself, Darius," he pointed at him with an overcooked sausage before his glare fell on Hope, "and you- get out! Don't wanna see your face in this pub again!"

"Oh, come on! He's being a pig!" Hope argued, voice rising in irritation. "Just because I have lady bits doesn't mean I want them touched."

"OUT!" The tender yelled louder, face turning beet red. 

Hope shook her head. "Alright, damn." She glanced at Darius and his gang as she crossed. They gave her a nasty look that made her wonder if they were contemplating some sort of payback. Hope's eyes shifted to bright gold, and her fangs sprouted instantly. A growling hiss erupted from her throat, sending the closest one toppling from his chair in an attempt to get away.

Then, Hope grinned. "Next time a woman gives you a warning, listen to her."

Ignoring someone who muttered, "Freak." 

She let the door slam behind her, and started off. The Three Broomsticks was really her only other option unless she opted to explore more of the countryside. She knew there to be little pubs here and there within walking distance. It would be a long walk, but maybe she needed that.

Stalking out past the pastures of grazing animals, Hope took a well-worn road and continued to walk without a destination in mind. It was barely ten o'clock in the morning, and Hope had already had two shots of liquor and gotten into a bar fight.

It couldn't get much worse than that. Right?

Wrong.