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HP: The Necromancer

One ordinary day at the supermarket, a cashier was surprised when a peculiarly dressed man appeared at his door. The man inquired about why he hadn't responded to a letter from the Office for the Prohibition of Abuse of Magic. ------- Note: Other than translation, everything belongs to the original author

keep_smiling29 · Livros e literatura
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160 Chs

Bar

To put it mildly, when confronted with an entire yard of pig heads, dripping saliva, rolling their eyes, and snorting, Anthony was about 20% puzzled, 20% surprised, and the remaining 60% embarrassed – considering the conversion of Sickles to Galleons and the hexadecimal system were commonplace in the wizarding world. The embarrassment stemmed from the waiter standing before him, dressed in a stained apron.

The man's eyes darted between Anthony and the empty wine barrel he had emerged from. He gaped like a fish out of water, unable to utter a word.

"Did you bring it? You idiot, why haven't you moved?" A tall figure appeared in the doorway, glancing into the yard. "Oh."

Anthony felt compelled to say something. He and Hagrid had been to the Hog's Head a few times, and he remembered the grimy bartender being the owner. He figured he couldn't just climb back into the barrel and pretend to be a disciple of Diogenes of Sinope in front of the man.

"Well, this is awkward," Anthony said. "I didn't expect to end up here." He was telling the truth. If he had to stumble into some back kitchen yard, he'd rather it be the Leaky Cauldron than this odd, goat-smelling pub he barely recognized.

"I know you," the goaty bartender said. "You're the one who came with the big fella, from Hogwarts."

Anthony nodded. "Henry Anthony. Nice to meet you... again, though under rather unusual circumstances." The nearest pig head snorted loudly at him, and Anthony shifted his feet to avoid getting drool on his shoes.

The bartender grunted, "So, Anthony, how'd you get in here?"

"The simple answer is magic," Anthony replied, gesturing towards the wine barrel. "I was experimenting at school, and a tunnel opened up – no, I didn't intend to dig into your establishment. The exit seems to have been determined by the castle itself. Curiosity got the better of me, and I found myself here."

The bartender strode over, roughly examining the barrel and peering into the dark, seemingly endless tunnel. Most of his head disappeared inside, his unkempt grey hair spilling over his shoulders.

"So, Hogwarts decided to burrow into my humble tavern," he said, his tone noncommittal.

"If you'd like, we can walk back through and I can prove it," Anthony offered.

The bartender shook his head. "No, no need." He fixed Anthony with a sharp look. "What do you teach at Hogwarts? Defense Against the Dark Arts? Never seen you before this year."

He scrutinized Anthony, his keen eyes seemingly dissecting him, peering into the depths of his soul.

Anthony suddenly realized the bartender's blue eyes were strikingly similar to Dumbledore's. He hadn't noticed it during his previous visits with Hagrid, perhaps because the bartender hadn't stared so intently from behind his dirty glasses back then. He had merely sat in the crowded bar, wiping the same grime-covered glass.

"I recently started teaching Muggle Studies to two year levels," Anthony answered.

"Ha, Muggles!" the bartender laughed unexpectedly. "Are you any good at it, kid?" It was almost a rhetorical question, and Anthony heard him mutter something like "I knew it" under his breath.

He responded cautiously, "Good enough not to get fired immediately, I suppose."

"Albus never fires anyone," the bartender said, turning to shout at the still-frozen waiter. "I'm not like him! Good to hear, isn't it? What are you standing there for? Go change the sign, and... do you need me to invite you?"

The waiter blanched, grabbed a nearby pig head by the tusks, and hauled it towards the tavern door. Anthony heard the thud as the pig head hit the counter in the crowded bar, followed by a cry of pain and muffled apologies.

The bartender cursed under his breath. "Temp workers... I'll replace him as soon as the other one gets back... Just a moment, Professor." He marched off to supervise the waiter, yelling, "Be careful, or you'll be wearing that pig's head yourself! A pig's brain might be better than yours!" Reaching the door, he suddenly turned back to Anthony. "Can I get you a drink?"

Anthony thought for a moment. "Mead, please." He had heard Dumbledore praise the pub's mead before, but Hagrid had never suggested ordering it. Hagrid preferred stronger spirits.

He handed payment for the drink to the bartender, whose face softened considerably. A moment later, the bartender returned with a brimming mead glass.

He had used a boar tusk to pry off the bottle cap. The golden liquid flowed into the boar's mouth along the fangs, and the pig grunted loudly in protest.

"I truly am sorry about this," Anthony said, accepting the drink.

"It's nothing. I often have uninvited guests. You're among the politest of them," the bartender said, pouring himself a glass. "The wine barrel was a clever idea, but the timing wasn't great."

Just then, the waiter returned, lugging a rather livid-looking pig head. This one had a particularly foul temper, its eyes rolling back and forth as it glared at the bartender, who promptly gave it a swift kick.

"Why are there so many pig heads here?" Anthony inquired. For a moment, he wondered if he had stumbled upon some bizarre dark ritual.

"You didn't think our sign was always the same pig, did you?" the bartender retorted. "They work in shifts, naturally."

After a quick inspection of the yard, the bartender declared, "Nothing seems amiss. Back you go, Professor of Muggle Studies."

Anthony hesitated briefly, contemplating whether to exit through the front door or return directly to the Room of Requirement. He opted for the latter. Under the bartender's watchful eye, he climbed back into the barrel, poked his head out, and bid farewell to the staring man. "Well, goodbye."

"Goodbye. But listen, don't reappear in my yard, or crawl out of any strange places again, Anthony. If you want a drink, just come in through the front door," the bartender said.

Anthony nodded, vowing silently to never set foot in this pub unless absolutely necessary. His mead was so sweet it felt like his throat was coated in honey.

"I understand. Thank you, um... sir," Anthony said, still unaware of the man's name.

The bartender sighed. "Dumbledore. Aberforth Dumbledore."

....

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