(no subject)

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Who: Drinking in town, Adults only for boozings.
Where: The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade
When: After shit got real. Evening.
Format: Either
Open/Closed: Open

The Three Broomsticks offers a nice, warm and welcoming atmosphere to Hogwarts Students and Staff alike. Granted, only those of age can sample more than Butterbeer and Pumpkin Juice, it's still open to all, regardless of age.

Come in, sit down, have a drink. You're all welcome!

Comments

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[In one of the booths is a familiar, leather-clad man. He seems to be keeping to the corner, a bottle of firewhisky and a shot glass in front of him, which he periodically pours into and downs.

He doesn't look too happy. Not at all. Obviously wants to be left alone...

...Which means that everyone everywhere should bug him.]

[order_and_light]

[On his way back from the one shop in town that sells a handful of Muggle 'novelties'—including cigarettes at absurdly hiked-up prices—Gagnon steps in at the Three Broomsticks. Pubs, bars, drinking establishments of any flavor have never been to his taste, even when he was back on the force in Paris. How spending time with others while chemically lobotomized was supposed to increase 'team spirit,' he did not know.

Still, plans start in bars, informants and gossips frequent them, they present a microcosm of the neighborhood around them—it's good to check up on them now and then.

His first survey from the door tells him it's business as usual in Hogsmeade—the same mix of students and residents, the usual cliques, nothing out of the ordinary.

Except for the groundskeeper drinking by himself in the corner.

...Well. There's no time like the present for acknowledging his enormous oversight in not confirming the archer knew about Krieger.

He makes his way back to Barton, upright and alert, out of place amid the casual pub-goers.]

Barton.

[compromisedarrow]

[To say that Barton is chemically lobotomised when he drinks is a severe oversight. Sure, his dead-eye accuracy is lowered, but it's still something to consider.

And the fact that his blue eyes locked onto Gagnon the second he walks in the door is another thing. He still pays attention, slumped in his corner. Someone trained enough will see that it's a booth that offers a view of the entire pub, and Barton's position, while casual enough for a man drinking his cares away, is such where he can move at a moment's notice.

Not much is known about Clint Barton's past other than the fact he worked as a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, was Prefect and Head Boy during his stint at Hogwarts, and achieved well in his OWLs and NEWTs. No-one questioned him that much.

The second he notices Gagnon approaching, he's snagging a clean glass from a passing waitress, and pouring the man a drink. It's shoved towards him as he says his name.]

Gagnon.

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My oversight put both you and the students in danger. [He sits, putting one hand around the glass and pulling it closer to him.] You look sober enough. I meant to give you the sordid story at the castle, but—[he pulls what looks like a small blue beetle from his pocket, sets it on the table between them, and flicks its wing casings open. The bug's inner wings immediately begin to buzz, though it doesn't rise from the table. The noise around the table dampens, overlaid by a soft, seemingly distant canvas of white noise, like the sounds of insects, birds, and breeze in a field on a hot summer afternoon. The device is a silencer. No one outside of its field of influence will hear more than a murmur of their conversation now.]—here will do.

[compromisedarrow]

[Barton eyes the beetle, knowing exactly what it does. There are numerous tools to help put the likes of Squibs on equal footing with magic-users. One thing Barton appreciates. He looks back to the Caretaker.]

I could have used a Muffling Charm, save your device's charge. [He shrugs. It was done.] And I'd say we're about even. You and Professor Javert stopped me from hexing that son-of-a-bitch where he stood.

[He downs his glass of firewhisky, wincing slightly.]

Let's hear it, then.

Watch me as I make canon up :|b

[order_and_light]

[Okay, telling this story actually does require alcohol, on second thought. He takes a drink, though he remains seated as upright as usual—he's less prone to looking constantly at attention than Javert, but that's not saying much.]

Krieger was already teaching at the school when I arrived here. About two years before your time. His subject was Care of Magical Creatures.

[And taking another drink. He can't believe the school was this negligent—or, sadly, he can.]

From what I've learned, rumors had been thick on the ground about Professor Krieger for years. Students' pets disappeared, creatures in his care went missing, the bodies of mutilated animals were found in the forest. Your predecessor, Forbes Martin, lodged complaints against him with the Headmaster. So did many of the professors worth the title. So did I.

Re: Watch me as I make canon up :|b

[compromisedarrow]

[Those who pay attention may notice Barton gripping his glass a bit harder before he forces himself to relax.]

Why is he still free? Why isn't he locked up in Azkaban? And why the hell is Professor Madeldore letting him in the castle?

[Another drink. And another.]

This stinks of something deeper.

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The smell of politics. The world's rankest stench. [He turns his glass around and around on the table, looking at it, before continuing. Criticizing governments doesn't come easily to him—though it's easier to do so now that he lives in a nation he doesn't consider his own.]

He has the English government's protection. [He takes another drink, more a gulp, and grimaces at the burn.]

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To get back into Hogwarts? No doubt. Only the Ministry could persuade Professor Madeldore to let him near the school.

[He slumps back in his booth, rubbing his eyes.]

I get the feeling he's connected to the animals showing up mutilated in the Forest, too. Even the Centaurs are worried. They say nothing living there naturally can do that. You said he was Care of Magical Creatures.

[Another drink]

That's my theory.

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Five years! [He puts his glass down hard.] I should be dismissed. Keeping to the castle like an ogre and ignoring my natural allies. Arrogance. [Five years, and he never thought to make certain Barton had been informed about Krieger. Five years and no one else thought to inform the man!]

You've been reporting the bodies to the Headmaster?

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Easy, big guy. Don't make me cut you off. We all make mistakes.

[He looks into his glass, frowning.]

Not yet. The centaurs asked me to wait while they make sure it isn't a creature in the forest. I have the reports ready to go, though.

[You don't want to mess with the Centaurs, man.]

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Don't humor their pride for too long. Human or animal, a beast in the woods is a danger to the students.

[He tips his glass toward Barton. Interested in topping it off?]

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Oh, don't I know that. It took me a few years to get their trust, though, not going to ruin it.

[And another drink gets poured. Just... No more self-pity.]

Gonna have to keep my eyes open.

[order_and_light]

Difficult work. It's a lifetime's effort convincing even members of the same species to trust each other. I'll trust you know when to overstep.

[Self-pity's when he starts thinking too hard about working the rest of his life isolated at a school. It's not bad work—all work is good work, provided it's not dishonest—but it can feel like a slow and early slide into retirement. And 'retirement' is just a horrible word. Work is his life.]

Watch the grounds. The devil's meant to have an escort whenever he steps foot on school property, but creatures like that are long past obeying rules.