The Munificent Pint Pot

Part 2

It's a strange fact of life that once you notice something once, you can't stop noticing it. Like if someone points out a certain make of car and then you suddenly see those cars everywhere you go or if you spot a trend in fashion, you suddenly notice it all around you. Well, the same sort of thing happened with Draco and The Munificent Pint Pot.

Admittedly, the second time Draco saw the inn it was after another particularly shitty day during which Healer Rosenblum decided that he wouldn't allow Draco to transfer to work under Healer Herbie Gilmoury in the Healership and Medicine Research Council, despite it being Draco's dream job and Rosenblum clearly hating him. A political war within the hospital had ensued and although Draco would put all his money on Herbie winning the battle, he didn't feel very comfortable to be the centre of such attention and on the receiving end of Rosenblum's ire. He felt like a pawn in a much bigger battle and his current workload was definitely coming out worse. On that particular occasion, he'd still been at work at 9pm at night, just managed to escape being locked into the department and got outside, only to realise he'd left his flat keys on his desk and couldn't get home.

He sighed, and looked across the busy street at the welcoming lights of The Munificent Pint Pot.

At least it wasn't raining this time.

He dodged the London traffic as he crossed the busy road and pushed open the door.

'Hello, Draco,' said Ron with a broad beam and not at all surprised to see him. 'So, the troubles aren't over yet?'

'No,' grumbled Draco. 'I don't suppose you've got any of that veggie stew left?' he asked as he took his seat at the bar.

'Of course,' said Ron, beaming. 'One bowl coming right up.'

As he waited, Draco looked around the bar. It was as busy as it had been the other week even though it was quite dry outside. And Draco didn't fail to notice the stranger in the corner was back again with their hood up around their face and their gloved hands. It's definitely Harry, he thought to himself, but if they were playing the game that it wasn't; he'd join in too, for the moment.

He also saw George Weasley at a table in the corner but Draco didn't dare make eye contact because he felt guilty about Fred's death even though he was in no way responsible. At least George looked like he was having a good time, he was sitting with two young women, one of whom seemed to be making him roar with laughter and other was nearly climbing in his lap as she toyed with his long red hair. He rolled his eyes; Weasleys and their hair. And scars, as he thought of George's missing ear.

The stew was better than Draco remembered and he felt considerably lightened after a hearty bowl of food and a foaming honey Butterbeer. Now all he needed to do was sort out a room for the night.

'Room four,' said Ron with a smile as he slapped a key down on the bar in front of Draco. 'Your clothes will be freshly laundered for the morning.'

Draco knew his jaw had dropped. 'What... how... how do you know?'

'Oh, I don't know, but the Pint Pot does. Your name just came up on the board next to the keys.'

'Oh... cost...'

'On the house, mate.'

'But...'

'No buts. The Pint Pot helps those who need it. And some need more help than others.'

Draco was about to object when Herbie clapped him on the back and said, 'I thought that was you. Back again, eh?'

And they fell into a conversation about work with Herbie convinced that the problem of Draco's transfer would be sorted by the end of the week. Draco believed him; he had that sort of infectious magnetism where people were always more than willing to help him. Herbie tapped the side of his nose conspiratorially, 'it helps to know the right people. Never you fear, I'll escalate this and put a firework under old Rosenblum's bitter arse. It's only because he thinks he missed out on the promotion to head up my department but he was never a contender anyway.'