Dead winter gonna take my life
Got a bad impression from some bad advice, it's a
Cold cut from a hard knock life
27th October, 1894 — The Three Broomsticks

Aubrey was certain of few enough things in life nowadays, but he did know he liked the Three Broomsticks. It had been one of the first places he had visited as a man again; it felt safe, in a way other pubs did not. The food was better. It reminded him of Hogsmeade weekends, and by extension Hogwarts, maybe. He had made a habit it out of it now: on his half-days off, he could hole up here in a corner table by the fire for hours on end quite happily, savouring every last sip of a Butterbeer and keeping an eye on the stray cats he could see out back through the nearest window from time to time, just in case.

If this was peace to him, a familiar comfort, he was struggling to keep it today – there were a group of youths a table or two over from him today. Not young enough to be at school; maybe twenty or so. Something about them reminded him unpleasantly of Urquart. And either they had recognised him as that guy – Aubrey had tried to ignore their laughter, and their muttering – or they were just the Urquart kind of trouble, but they had found a new game. Flicking things at him, mostly; balled-up bits of bread and other bits of food tossed casually at the back of his head. They had landed one in his drink, and another at the nape of neck – he shook the crumbs from his collar, but didn’t dare look at them – and most of the scraps had landed, scattered, under his table and his chair.

One of the maids had come around nearby, sweeping. Aubrey’s face coloured as the broom came into contact with some of the mess. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “That, er – it wasn’t me,” he tried to explain: he might have made messes as a hedgehog, but never as a human. He’d not been in service for all his life and ever thought lightly of making mess someone would have to clear away. (He wished she would leave it, really, and he would clear it up himself, later, when the kids had gone and weren’t here to gloat.)

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Kenna Buchanan/Daffodil Grimstone

  

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Formerly known as Davis, Elijah Urquart's pet hedgehog.

It was thankfully mostly quiet around the pub today. Kenna had finished up the few rooms upstairs that needed tidying and so had moved downstairs to help restock her supplies and then set about sweeping and mopping the pub floor. It always felt some sort of sticky and she had made it her personal mission to try and remove that from the wooden floors. It was proving to be harder than she would have liked, but a new soap for her mop bucket ought to help, or so she hoped.

She was humming quietly to herself, ignoring the group of younger (even than her, which mean they must have been fresh Hogwarts graduates) patrons, going about her business and trying to stay out of the way. The less obtrusive she was, the easier her job tended to be. She had learned a few hard lessons over her employment at the inn, but was getting better at it as she went along.

"Oh, I know." She smiled kindly at the gentleman who spoke to her. He was in here often, though she did not frequent the pub itself all that often, she did like to help out when needed. It wasn't for Kenna to judge how people spent their free time or money. "It is not an uncommon occurrence with a crowd like that." She assured him as she went about her mopping near his table.

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She seemed, if not unaware of the commotion, then expertly serene about it – content to keep her head down and carry on, without letting it bother her. Aubrey had been managing to do that just about, before, but while the maid was actively trying to clean the floors, it made their stupid little game all the more obnoxious.

Aubrey nodded at her, quirking a corner of his mouth back at her acknowledgement that it was not unusual, and that she knew he was not to blame. (He had learned how to handle a knife and fork again, a soup spoon, all that, thank you; he could eat as well as the next civilised person. This was – important to him.)

And he hadn’t been going to say anything else about it, just shifting his chair sideways so that she could work around him without his feet in the way, when one of the youth sent a substantial ball of mashed potato flying towards him, perhaps with the force and the help of a banishing charm. Aubrey dodged it, or it missed him – either way, it hit her squarely. His face fell: he would have warned her, but she was... likely to have felt that hit.

“Entitled brats,” he muttered between them, managing a glare over his shoulder at the group but feeling like he should probably do something more to stop them but helpless as to what. (What he wouldn’t give to be able to shit in their shoes, like the old days.) “Are y’alright?”

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   Kenna Buchanan

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Formerly known as Davis, Elijah Urquart's pet hedgehog.

Kenna was still of the opinion it was easier not to engage in behavior like the young men were exhibiting. It was often more trouble than it was worth and she was relieved to see that the man who had addressed her agreed, even if he didn't approve.

At least, until she felt something hit her shoulder.

It didn't hurt, but it was a surprise, and the expression on her features clearly showed her annoyance, even if she schooled her outrage quickly. "I'm alright, thank you." Kens was too timid to do anything about it, though perhaps, she could speak to the barkeep and get them thrown out if they got any worse. She grabbed a rag from her little cart of cleaning supplies and tried to get whatever remnants of potato was still on her shoulder, but she couldn't see and she couldn't really reach. At least getting what fell to the floor would be easier. She mumbled something unkind in Gaelic under her breath, but sighed outwardly and got to cleaning it up.

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Aubrey hadn’t learned to contain his reactions quite so well as she seemed able to when it came to anger – it had almost been easier to express himself as a hedgehog, by hissing or curling into a spiky ball or biting people’s fingers. (If those kids’ fingers got anywhere near him, it was over for them.)

Nowadays, though, with some semblance of a human life again, in a less lawless society than the world of Hogwarts pets, Aubrey had to contain himself. Keep his head down, too. Nowadays it tended to surface in a torrent of dark, frustrated muttering – which happened here again, half to the maid and half to himself, as he slid off his chair, pulled out his chair and bent down to start wiping up some of the floor’s mess for her. Her job, maybe, but Aubrey suspected it had been his fault. If they had recognised him, he was a natural target for it. (And he felt bad. There was still a smudge of potato on her shoulder that he hadn’t gathered the courage to tell her about.)

“If I knew a spell to tip their blasted chairs up,” Aubrey muttered, “I might do it. Get their faces right in it for once.” Forwards, into their food. Then they’d see who was laughing.

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   Kenna Buchanan

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Formerly known as Davis, Elijah Urquart's pet hedgehog.

At least it was just her uniform and not her own clothes that would need a washing. She had two uniforms, so could clean this one tonight and it would be ready to go for the next day. It was inconvenient, but not the end of the world.

Kens chuckled appreciatively at the gentleman's creative idea for revenge. "It's not worth it, I'm alright." She passed him a warm smile. She wasn't the kind to cause trouble, even if it was in retaliation. "Would be more mess to clean up." More work for her to do and she already had plenty. It would be funny though, a taste of their own medicine.

She turned back to see him cleaning up some of the potatoes she'd missed and Kenna squeaked in surprise. "Oh, you don't have to do that," she reached out to stop him gently with a touch at the shoulder. She didn't want her boss to see a patron of the pub cleaning up when that was her job. "I can do it." She assured him, mop already in hand.

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She had smiled at the remark, but did not seem to want to let him help. Her job, he reminded himself – but he had spent too many years as a footman cleaning up messes without those responsible ever offering to help (why would they? they didn’t care) to want to be responsible for making her day that little bit harder. “It’s my fault, I reckon,” he said, quiet, with a slight grimace; but she had touched his shoulder, so he got the point. Stopping what he was doing, he straightened back up and instead just hovered by the chair he’d moved out the way, so that she could get to it with the mop.

“Your job always this nice?” Aubrey asked as he leant there, sympathetic and a little wry. He could not ask if she enjoyed it. He had never met a maid who would have picked her profession out of all the world.

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Formerly known as Davis, Elijah Urquart's pet hedgehog.

Kens waved off the comment about it being his fault. It was nobody's fault other than poor parenting on those young men. Kenna rather thought had they been raised with better manners, this wouldn't be a problem. She appreciated him moving the chair back so she mopped up underneath quickly before stowing the mop back into the bucket. After wiping her hands on her apron, Kenna motioned for him to sit again.

"It's been worse. I don't usually work at night, that's truly messy." Ken had a hard time with the loud, crowded atmosphere of the evenings in the pub. This was much preferable, quieter, easier for her to manage. "Normally I'm upstairs cleaning the rooms, but I finished already." That was the best part. Nobody else around, just her and her work, she could be fast and efficient, restock, reset for the next person. "But I've taken a personal vow to try and get this floor to be less sticky." She chuckled. It felt like a long shot, but maybe she'd be able to make something happen if she kept at it.

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Aubrey sat again, pulling up his chair and able to settle his feet beneath him again without squelching in anything. He smiled at her, trying to very profusely admire the slightly-improved state of the floor that from the sounds of it she was battling. “You against all the Butterbeer in the world,” he remarked wryly – and gone were the days when Aubrey had been able to talk to himself without the words coming out. Sometimes he forgot he was thinking aloud.

“There’s a – scouring solution that we use at the house,” Aubrey added, trying to sound more positive – “I can’t remember what it’s called, but it does the trick on most anything. I’m in service,” he explained, in case she imagined the house was his own, and not merely the place he worked. He swallowed quickly: he didn’t usually talk this much in one go.

(He had never intended to be in domestic service again, after what had happened to him. But if venturing out into the wider world again meant encountering customers like the likes of hers, Aubrey didn’t know if he was cut out for it.)

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Formerly known as Davis, Elijah Urquart's pet hedgehog.

Kenna chuckled again, good-naturedly at his jest. "It is unsurprisingly very sticky!" She agreed, smiling more genuinely now. "That would help, I don't really know how to make anything outside of what I've been taught." Kens blushed a little at the admission. She thought adding hot water and some lemon might help take the stick out, but she was going to have to try some white vinegar next. Something with a little more magical potency would be helpful.

"I used to work in service myself, but I was a lady's maid." Wildly different work than the rest of the maids, though she had worked her way up the ladder, so she wasn't unfamiliar with the rest of the tasks in the house. It had been a while though, unfortunately. The Broomsticks was a step backward, but she had been lucky to get anything; there was no room to complain and she knew it.

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