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Wheezing and coughing Harry cringed away from an irate Madam Rosmerta, owner of the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. He was seated at the packed bar in the tavern, leaning as far back as he could while the black haired woman glared at him fiercely from the other side.
She ground her teeth and looked up as if beseeching help from on high. When nothing happened she took three quick strides to the sink to pick up a white rag with brown stripes and threw it at him. With a Seeker's accuracy Harry caught the thing before it hit him in the face. The sudden movement combined with his precarious seat caused him to overbalance and topple backwards off his chair to land on the floor with a thud.
A dull pain bloomed in his lower back even as his eyes watered and his throat burned. "Ow," he coughed piteously.
Rosie, as she'd asked to be called, leant over the bar on both arms and glared down at him. The two men on either side of the now empty stool hastily stood to find themselves somewhere else to sit and avoid the not-so-tender mercies of the livid barmaid.
"Did you know that the single most useful spell in all the History of Magic for a bartender is the Flame Freezing Charm?" she asked icily. "I have lost count of the number of idiots that have belched me in the face with flames after gulping down firewhiskey like they were dying of thirst, but that does. Not. Mean. I. Like it!" With each word she smacked her palm on the bar with a thwack.
Cheeks red from embarrassment Harry scrambled to his feet and tried to ignore how everyone in the place was staring at him, poorly hiding their laughter at his misfortune.
"I'm sorry," he said, holding both his hands up. "You're not hurt, are you?"
"No," she said before huffing, crossing her arms and turning away, snubbing him like a teenager.
Eying her like she was a predator waiting to pounce Harry cautiously sat down on his stool again, moving slowly and taking great care not to wave the rag he was still holding around before he put it on the bar and tried to clean up some of the mess he made. When he was done he curled both hands around his half-full tumbler and stared at the amber liquid that had caused this mess in the first place in an effort to ignore the still chuckling patrons.
Why had some idiot thought belching flames was funny, anyway?
The corner of his mouth curled upwards and he lowered his head further, not wanting Rosie to see him smile and start throwing bottles. Oh right, because it was hilarious, even if it was embarrassing.
Behind him the door swung open and Harry looked over his shoulder, a little wary that Order members might come here after their little meeting that he had left less than an hour ago. He needn't have worried.
The woman that entered was a little over twenty and stormed into the tavern like a hurricane. Dressed in denim shorts and a bright purple top that didn't reach down further than her midriff she was showing an incredible amount of skin and attracted the eye of almost every man in the room. Her long brown hair brushed over her shoulders as she turned her head slowly to take in the place with a single, confident glance before she made a beeline for the bar. She stumbled slightly as she reached the empty stool next to Harry and had to grab the bar with both hands not to land on the floor.
"Firewhiskey," she growled, before her butt even hit the cushion. Rosie poured her two fingers in a tumbler, same as his and she tossed it back in one smooth movement. She kept her head tilted back even as she lowered the glass and bellowed fire to the sky like an angry dragon.
Harry couldn't help but stare.
"Another," she said, her voice a little husky, and Harry swallowed even as Rosie poured another glass.
The second disappeared just as quickly and as Rosie poured her third glass in about a minute she shot Harry a scathing look as if to tell him that that is how it's done.
The woman noticed and followed her gaze. Vivid blue eyes raked up and down over his body like a peace of meat before she scowled as if he had personally offended her and turned back to the bartender.
"What'd he do to you?"
Rosie rolled her eyes. "Belched fire in my face. Don't worry," she added hastily when the woman's eyes narrowed. "I've long since accepted that some idiots can't hold their liquor and was prepared."
"I said I was sorry," Harry muttered, cheeks flaming and he looked down in embarrassment. Merlin, he was never going to live that down.
"Men are scum!" the woman next to him growled like a wounded tiger.
Rosie looked a little taken aback at that and Harry glanced at the newcomer from the corner of his eye, unsure if he was supposed to be defending his gender, apologise on behalf of it or get the hell away as fast as his legs could carry him.
She was curled around her drink like he'd been, except for an aura of anger and hurt that rolled off her in waves. The muscles in her forearms stood out as she clenched her hands around the glass. She had hooked both feet around the legs of her stool and was similarly tensing as if the thing might buck at any moment to throw her off and staying in her seat was taking a great deal of effort.
"Oh deary, I'm sorry." Rosmerta put the bottle on the bar close by and leaned forward on both arms until the woman met her eyes. "What's your name?"
She scowled as she drained the last of her glass. "Amanda."
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If you're eager to delve deeper into the story, consider joining my Patreon for exclusive content and early access to new chapters
70+Advanced Chapters there.
(P).(A).(T).(R).(E).(O).(N)
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