The air was heavy inside the Hogâs Head Inn, despite the freezing cold November air that linger whenever a burst of wind would move through cracks in the walls or whenever the door flung open. The bar was dusty and smelled slightly of mold. The floors were old concrete blocks and were so lopped-sided that you had to take caution with every step. The room was dark except for the roaring fire that sat between the bar and patronâs tables. A youngish man with long, dark, and dirty hair stood behind the bar, wiping the stained mug rings off to the best of his abilities. One of the customers sitting at the bar grunted the bartenderâs name softly under his breath. âCrouch...â Barty Crouch poked his head up glancing at the client.Â
âWhat?â He asked coldly, his dead brown eyes glaring at the old wizard. The wizard stood up, pushing his chair back allowing it to fall to the floor with a hard thunk. The older wizard pushed his hand into his pocket pulling out some silver and bronze sickles and knuts, slamming them hard on the table. âBeer taste like piss,â he grunted as he made his way out. âThatâs because it is!â Barty shouted out after him as a gushed of wind washed in causing the fire to flicker loudly. Barty heaved a long sigh before pulling his wand out from his back pocket of his jeans. He waved it towards the fallen chair as a line of silver lifted the chair and set it up right back at the bar.
Barty was used to slow nights like this, hell, he even preferred it. For him, it was never about making enough money or even having it. The cost for a room at the Inn and for unlimited firewhiskey was enough for Barty to want to stay forever. He had been lucky to be in the right place at the right time. The manager at the Inn had grown keen of Bartyâs company. He didnât ask a lot of questions, was always on time, and kept to himself when he was in his room. But that wasnât the only reason why he liked Barty. Barty in fact had saved his life once. Not that it was Bartyâs intention to do so, like he said, right place at the right time. He liked looking for a fight. The manager of the Inn had gotten into a spat with one of the regulars, the client was so furious (or perhaps just really drunk), attempted to curse the owner. Barty, quick on the draw and sharp thinking was quick to counter curse the spell, but while doing so, alerting the authorities in the process. No sooner, his father was there on the scene. Barty was arrested by his father and was forced to serve a month (38 days to exact ) in Azkaban due to causing bodily harm on another person that could have resulted in death. (If only, Barty thought) Once he returned to work, the owner decided to promote him to the head night bartender where Barty could work alone. Most nights the bar was dead, exactly the way he liked it.Â
The bartender looked around the bar, an elderly wizard sat at the end with his hood up. His goblet had something smoking out from the top as he drank from it. Barty looked around the bar again, a witch and another fairly older wizard sat in the table in the back talking to themselves in whispers. He tossed his bar towel over his left shoulder pulling out a pocket book on how to break counter curses. The man leaned over, tucking a fist under his chin, now if only no one else would come into the bar it would be the perfect night. If only...
The bar door sung open, the air whipping at the rough edges of his book. Barty didnât bother to look up from his book, he stayed still before finishing up the page he had been currently reading. He glance up with a bored expression.
âWhat do you want?â
