Dream & Shadow

31* Past and Present

The sinewy tall man returned into the Hogshead Inn while Leonor crossed the street. She glimpsed from the distance at Alma's shop in the main street. Everything was silent and dark except a little rose-red light in the attic room. She sighed and followed the landlord, still wondering about his age. She couldn't give a good guess. The air in the pub smelled of stale drinks and unclean folks, even though there was just one last guest sitting over an empty tankard. Leonor glanced round and moved to the long bar where the landlord wiped the sticky surface with a greyish brown cloth. The dirt on the floor gnashed under the steps. He called out to the obviously drowsy wizard holding the pitcher with both hands.

"Fletcher, pay your bill. It's closed now."

The burly man blinked, gazed at the landlord and stood up. He looked at Leonor and his eyes narrowed before showing a toothless grimace and wiping his bald head with ugly fingers. The so-called Fletcher tossed some coins at the bar and rushed out of the pub like in a sudden hurry. The landlord grunted to himself, collected the sickles and threw them into a drawer.

"I'm Leonor," she said unemotional and without stretching a hand as a greeting. The landlord watched her with blue piercing eyes before taking two glasses from a cupboard. He filled them with a clear liquid and handed one to Leonor.

"Aberforth," said the landlord and drowned the cup in one go. Leonor copied him. The colourless liquid burned in the throat like fire.

"Brave," snorted Aberforth and refilled the glasses to the brim.

"Why do you watch me?" asked Leonor without preamble. The bloke's resemblance to Dumbledore showed weakly on the surface. Blue penetrating eyes and lanky grey hair scraped up most of the similarities. A grim and bitter look replaced the bright smile and the mischievous twinkle of the headmaster. Shabby robes created a stark contrast to the colourful embroidered clothing of the famous brother. It was almost as if Albus lived in the sun while Aberforth had chosen the shadows. The strong liqueur created a warm pleasant burn around Leonor's stomach, a curative feeling against birthday blues.

"Do I?" Aberforth frowned slightly with a strange lively graveness.

"You do."

"Any issues with it?" replied the landlord grumpily and emptied another cup.

"It's at least impolite."

"It's for your own good."

"What makes you so sure to know what's good for me?"

"Age."

"Age doesn't give the right to stalk. Stay out of my business!" replied Leonor clutching her wand visibly under the cloak.

Aberforth grinned. He leaned over the bar and came threatening close to Leonor's face. A wry grin curled his mouth.

"Girl, I've seen rise and fall of two dark sorcerers. Don't tell me you've seen more! I smell the wrong people, I know what pushes them. They will assault your little perfect apothecary. You are in the wrong company," said the landlord with a stern finality in the voice.

Leonor drowned the refilled cup holding the gaze. She wondered about the motives of Aberforth to tell her. The information itself didn't take her by surprise.

"Why would you warn me?" shrugged Leonor.

"You are not from here."

"Fine, then all is said. No need to trace my steps anymore. Call me if you need a word. Good night!" Leonor shoved the empty glass into the hands of the host and made the way to the exit into the meanwhile cloudy January. He didn't call her back. Suspicion rose like fog above autumnal lowlands. The grudging honesty sounded genuine, not forced. The idea that Dumbledore was involved in the warning in one or another way dispersed by the arrival of two owls.