Sam stumbled into the Three Broomsticks with a grin already plastered on his face. He had decided earlier in the night to make a pub crawl of all his favorite watering holes. He was already three establishments in, and as such, was feeling pretty good. He brushed the snow off his black donkey jacket once he was in the doors. He looked around the room, the grin remained. All through the bar there was wizards in graying old robes. Sam however was in said donkey coat, an orange button-up, and brown slacks. Some of the younger crowd gave him odd looks. But the older guys, men around Sam's own Methuselah like age, they all knew Sam. He'd fought in the Battle of Hogwarts with some, and some he knew from even before that. He gave the other old guys a wink and a nod, the only greeting they needed. Then he strode drunkenly towards the bar.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cheap cigar in plastic. He tore off the wrapper and tossed it on the bar in front of him as he slid against it. He lit up the cigar and took a pull, pushing the smoke in his mouth against his cheek. He swished the smoke around, and then blew it out in short puffs of blue. He reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. Though the wallet looked like a regular black leather bill fold, the inside was enchanted for much more room. It was Sam's comfortable way of carrying around the clunky wizard currency.     

After another puff Sam leaned back to look around the room for a Barmaid. He was thirsty, and he was pretty sure he could eat too. He pulled his jacket off, and then placed it at his feet against the bar. He was settling in to get nice and cozy for a while.

Beth was in the pub's dining room, but she was bent over a table clearing up and, with her diminutive stature, the witch likely couldn't be seen. The scent of cigar smoke drifted toward her and she took it in without a thought as she ran a hand over her flyaway hair and stood. It was funny – cigar smoke used to seem an odd sort of scent before she'd begun working in a pub, and now it barely registered. She did a sweep of the room as she wiped her hands off on the half-apron around her hips. Things were always a little understaffed around major holidays wherever you worked, and The Three Broomsticks was no exception – which meant Beth was stepping up her game a little and doing some table service tonight, despite her comfortable post behind the bar. It could have been worse. As long as they had housekeepers on staff at the historic inn then she didn't have to clean toilets – because if and when the day came when she was asked to she would walk out the door so fast her boss would think the wind had slammed it shut. She hadn't been on the pre-auror track for seven years to scrub excrement! Hell, she hadn't been on the pre-auror track for seven years to pull pints, either, but it was still a step up!

Bethan slipped back behind the bar and wandered toward the smoke shrouded seat, which had been unoccupied earlier, shooing a blue cloud away from her face with the back of her hand. Once the smoke cleared she recognized this particular regular immediately, and a huge, friendly grin lit up her face. “Alright, Sammy?” she greeted the obliviator warmly, leaning toward him on the bar. She looked like a little child who'd just run into Father Christmas on the street. As far as awesome people went, the fellow sitting before her was pretty much the top, as far as she was concerned. He was a survivor of the war – in a very different way than she was, of course, but she still felt a sort of weird kinship with the affable geezer. He'd been on the front lines! The stories he had to tell were likely the grandest sort, and Bethan was nosy. She wanted him to like her. Heck, she sort of wanted to be his best friend and follow him around like the Sancho Panza to his Don Quixote! The best she could do was get him good and drunk on his own dime and hope his lips would loosen up for her enjoyment.

“What're you drinking?” she asked the man eagerly, clutching the edge of the bar like she'd been waiting her entire life to make him a drink. “I should know by now - I know, I know - but we've been packed these past few days and I'm drawing a blank,” she rambled by way of apology. “I'll put one of those tiny brollies in it, whatever it is. How's that? Make it fancy and that.”

"Beth I hear you callin" Sam quietly crooned, his face a big smile when the pretty young Barmaid came up and lightened up the room, "I'll tell you what Beth. Keep the umbrella on hand when I make the jump over to the hard stuff. For now hows about a beer. Tall and cold, like my ex-wife. Pale lager will be fine. 'Nother thing doll, you got any copies of the Prophet rollin around? I need to see the quidditch scores, if the Gods are kind I'll be buyin a round for the bar. If they ain't, then it looks like soups gunna have to last me the month."

Sam reached into the wallet that was splayed on his lap and pulled out a galleon. He slid it towards Bethan with a wink. He took another pull on his cigar, and then rolled up his sleeves. On each of his forearms was an old tattoo the same color as the smoke the hung in the air around him. He reckoned that each one easily had over forty years on Beth. He cackled to himself through the smoke, the laughter quickly turned to coughing. He pulled a handkerchief out of his chest pocket and coughed into while he collected himself.

The old wizard was a pretty big fan of Beth. As he was of all beautiful young ladies that gave him the time of day. He especially liked that she liked to listen to him run his mouth about the stuff that he'd done. By the time Beth had showed up to sling booze at the Three Broomsticks most of the other staff had grown tired of his stories. Not that it ever stopped Sam from telling them anyway, old Sam Roth was not the type to sit quietly and just fade away. He shoved his handkerchief into a pocket on his pants, and then leaned in closer over the counter. He ran a hand over his scarred old face, and then his eyes lit up as he remembered to ask for some food as well.

"Beth m' dear if it wouldn't be too much trouble, do you think you could find something for me to gnaw on as well. If I don't put something in the tank you might find me passed out on your floor sooner than normal."

“Well, I haven't met your wife, but I'll do what I can,” Beth chuckled, fetching him a good tall glass and going about filling it for him, an amused but impish little grin on her face all the while. She had to do her job no matter who was on the other side of the bar, but she really preferred it when the company was interesting – not to mention happy to see her. Plenty of people were happy to see the face that brought the beer, but it was something else when they remembered your name. She was a social sort of girl, and it didn't take much more than that to make her night.

“It's late in the day to be tracking down a paper, but I reckon you're in luck. Room four turned in his key before they were delivered and I've had it sitting back here all day,” she explained as she flicked her wand at a coaster, which jumped into place in front of him. “I nearly got rid of it, you know, but I didn't. I must've known you were coming around tonight, like.” Tucking her wand back into her apron pocket, Beth set the drink on top of the coaster. She took a step back, scanned the back of the bar for the cubbyhole where they kept the mail for the inn's guests, and then skipped down to retrieve the orphaned newspaper.

 She opened it up and started flipping pages as she walked back to where he sat, searching for the sports section. “Which side's your money on, Sam? I'll break the news to you real easy, like,” she teased as her eyes scanned the scores, pausing when she reached him again. “Ooh, ouch. Bad week to be a Catapults supporter, looks like,” she remarked, setting his paper down in front of him. “My Da'll be pleased, anyway.”

”Beth m' dear if it wouldn't be too much trouble, do you think you could find something for me to gnaw on as well. If I don't put something in the tank you might find me passed out on your floor sooner than normal.”

“Well, how hungry are you just now? Because the soup's pretty good tonight, actually, but if you're starving I can put in a pie for you or something like that,” she suggested. If he was here for a nosh then it meant he was likely staying a while, which was good news for her, at least. She didn't expect to be bored tonight! “Are you going to tell me a story tonight, or what? If you are, it had better be a good one! Something where a lot of people die, I think. There must be something I haven't heard.”

"Count yourself lucky you never met my ex-wife. There's probably some poor bloke somewhere right now that's wishin just that. I guess you must of known I was comin around. Small miracles make the day so much easier."

Sam reached down as soon as his drink was in front of him. He drained half of the beer, then wiped his mouth on his hairy forearm. Another puff was followed by another swallow, and then the beer was nearly finished. He kicked down at his jacket a little to make sure his own wand was sitting in one of the big dump pockets in the front. Watching Beth bring the coaster over with her own made him worry that he'd forgotten his own wand at the last bar. Luckily he felt it when his foot hit the coat. Sam finished off his drink and placed it on the coaster while Beth went and fetched the paper. He watched from behind whisky colored eyes as she came back, reading his treasured sports page.

"I need the scores from the Portree and Wasps game, and the Catapaults and Bats game. Both are from the twenty seventh. I've been putting off checking the scores. I put a little too much money on the games after a couple or six too many Chanukah cocktails. I'll tell you what doll, drinkin Long Island Ice-teas will make you do some dumb stuff," Sam scanned the paper when Beth laid it in front of him. He drank in the scores with a worried look on his face. Slowly it cracked back into a wicked grin, which Sam followed up with a horrible croaking laugh.

"Looks like I'm going to have to buy a round for the bar after a win like that. Old Sam's pockets get a little fatter. God only knows how I pulled the points on those two with how sloshed I was when I made those bets. Must be a Chanukah miracle," said the older man. He was quiet for a moment, deciding on a pie or not. "Might as well put an order in for a pie, I could go for somethin meaty. I guess I could go into a story or two if you're up to listenin to the drunk ramblins of an old man. All my stories are good, and in all my stories someone dies sooner or later. How about the one where I put a bunch of Giants in the ground. The First Wizardin War. Have I told ya that one yet?"

“Yeah, I'd say - definitely a Chanukkah miracle, whatever that means. Doesn't matter – miracle's a miracle, right?” she asked with a laugh, showing her ignorance a bit, but with the best intentions. Had Chanukkah happened yet? Was it now? Did it actually involve drinking, or had her pal added his own embellishment to his celebration? She had to assume the latter, seeing as he'd shown up at a pub already half-tipsy on a Wednesday night and he seemingly hadn't even had any supper yet. She pushed some hair behind her ear and nodded at him as he made up his mind. She was already gunning to hear his story, a grin breaking across her face again. One glance around the dining room, however, and that big dragon-charming grin melted into something a tad more sensible.

“Alright, love, how about this? First of all, I'm going to put in for the pie, then I'm going to go over there and clear that table, then I'm gonna get you another beer, and then I want you to tell me about the giants. We'll reconvene in, say, five minutes? Yeah, five minutes or bust. That's the plan,” she explained enthusiastically, already slipping out from behind the bar to give herself a good head start. The worst part about her job was that she occasionally had to work. She could have listened to stories all night, but for some reason people wanted her to do stuff. Ugh. It seemed really inconvenient sometimes – but then she remembered her paycheck. Half the time it still didn't seem worth it. She really needed to get on top of retaking those NEWTs she'd messed up. Anything seemed more thrilling than cleaning up after the rude and belligerent. She was so very thankful for the Sam's of the world.

Beth was mostly true to her word. She was back behind the bar give or take five minutes later, setting his reheated pie in front of him and grabbing him another beer. She wanted him to be fully stocked before he started so that, luck willing, she wouldn't have to get up and be useful for a while. “Was that five minutes?” she asked him hopefully as she set the full glass before him. “I would've been quicker, but someone spilled their drink and decided not to say anything about it and I nearly cracked my coconut. Real nice, isn't it? But anyway, I think I was promised a story,” she rambled enthusiastically. “Dead giants, you said? Go on. How's it start?” 

"It must of been five minutes. I don't think I could of gone any longer than that without seein ya smilin like you do," Sam said while pitching back the drink, taking a deep pull of it. "Some people have no class. They spill booze and make a pretty gal mop it up instead of doing it themselves. The world ain't like it used to be. For better and worse. People used to only leave slicks of booze in dive bars where old guys who look like me would give you watered down bourbon and then let people practice tattooin on ya while you're passed out drunk. That's how I got my first tattoo way back in the day. Stumbled into a bar on skid row and drank until I blacked out. Woke up with a damn cross on my calf. A cross! I'm Jewish! They couldn't even do me the favor of givin me a mermaid or somethin. Anyways."

Sam trailed off, and picked up his fork. He took a big bite of the pie. He smiled while he chewed the savory, and flaky meal. That was something Sam enjoyed about having been all over the world, getting to try the food first hand. He chewed thoughtfully, thinking about how to start off his tale about the Giants. He washed down the food with more beer, and took a puff of his cigar.

"So no joke there I was. It was the First Wizardin War. Which I can assure you was really the second. There were plenty of wizards fightin alongside Ol' Grindy back in the day. I know, I personally put more than my share in the ground. That's a whole 'nother story though. This was with You-Know-Who the first time. I was out in the countryside with a group of Aurors. Giants had been in the area, it was right after they started their invasion at the behest of You-Know-Who. They were doin awful things to the muggles. Smashin them up real good. Leavin broken and bloody piles of bodies everywhere they went. Tearin up towns and the like. So I'm out there with these Aurors and my official job is to be obliviatin the minds of the survivin muggles. Tellin them it was hurricanes and other BS like that. Of course what actually happens, is I do all that, but I also start helpin the Aurors start an offensive on these big bastards. And do I mean big. I still remember the first time I ever saw one. It was a sentry, there was a camp of them holed up in these woods outside a town they'd recently rampaged through. This big bastard had to have been twenty feet tall. Imagine a person that's twenty feet tall. Not a skinny person neither. More like a fella with the body of Rock Hudson but the face of a neanderthal. He was taller than some of the trees. Now imagine a big hairy monster of a man, all twenty feet of him, throwing boulders at you. Real boulders! And imagine him chucking some sort of Giant spells at you at the same time. Things explodin around you everywhere. It was pandemonium. I kid you not."

Sam paused for a moment, and took another bite of his food. Then he finished the remainder of his beer. He scratched at the end of his ugly scarred nose, and then slid the cigar into the corner of his mouth.

"Hey Beth, I'm gunna have to hold the rest of the story for ransom. I think I need one of those delicious drinks you make. Feel free to use the umbrella. How about a whisky sour doll face?"

Bethan couldn't help but to grin when good old Sam complimented her smile like that. You see, she was a little bit, erm, “relationship challenged”, and it was a rare snowy day at the African equator when someone thought to compliment her smile, or anything else about her. She didn't realize her lack of male attention had gotten quite as bad as it had, but luckily she wasn't stopping to think about it at the moment – if she had, it just may have dawned on her that the only bloke who'd even looked in her direction in the past year was about a hundred years old. She couldn't really blame the men for ignoring her, though, seeing as she kept herself covered up. That might have been why she liked Sam so much, in a way. He kept his own scars in plain sight, advertising to the world that he was a survivor worth his salt. He was shameless in a way that Beth just couldn't be. Then again, things may have been different if he were a nineteen year old girl.

“You know, I think I'd fancy a tattoo. I don't know what I'd get, though. Not a cross or a mermaid, I know that much, but I couldn't tell you what might be better. I might be better off letting someone ink me up against my will, isn't it? Then I wouldn't need to decide,” she snorted, a hint of a smile lingering on her lips as she grabbed his spent glass off of the counter top and set it aside to be cleaned later. “I don't spend much time in dives, anyway, to tell the truth. I spend most of my time here – that, and revising, like. I reckon I'm safe.” That subject spent, she was happy to settle in and hear his tale.

Now, Beth may not have been a great reader, but she could certainly get into a story. She was absorbed almost at once, her mind drawing up the pictures as she listened to Sam's easy but scratchy drawl. She always became invested in stories like this, inadvertently placing herself at the center of them no matter who the protagonist really was. Between her years in dueling club at Hogwarts and inserting herself into other people's war stories she had it in her head that she was a lot more bad ass than she actually was in reality, and the longer she listened the more she felt like she could just jump on a bar stool and crushing someone's skull with her bare hands. There she was in her mind, facing up to this gigantic behemoth of a giant whose every attack left behind a crater in the earth. She was only a quarter of his size, and with only her wand! And what did she do?!

 She didn't know – he was the one telling the story! Her face, which had been stoic and intent, with her mouth hanging open just the slightest, twitched visibly as he yanked her from her tale, and she couldn't help but scowl a bit. It turned into a shake of her head and a grumpy smile soon enough, however as she stood up and wandered to the back of the bar to access her spirits. “You know, Sammy, I could really kill you for this – but I won't, seeing as you'd likely kill me right back, and worse. I believe that, too. I bet people are more dead than usual after you kill them. Double dead.”

“Do you lot deal with giants often? The obliviators, I mean. You make it sound like you were right in there with the aurors and them,” she asked, her curiosity piqued. She turned her back to him and got to work mixing up his drink, fishing out a hot pink umbrella just for the occasion. “I wasn't really thinking of giants much when I thought I'd become an auror, but I wouldn't mind fighting one of them. I think I could hold my own for a bit. Of course, they train you once you're in,” she rambled as she worked. She plunked a cocktail cherry into his glass and set it before him hastily. Sure, she'd rushed a little, but he was just going to swallow the thing in three gulps anyway. “Alright, alright. Explosions. Go on.”

"I wouldn't doubt that I've killed the same person more than once in my time. Why not? Harry Potter killed old whats his face more than once. Not to compare myself to Harry Potter. Boy is a hero, and a miracle all in one. I had the chance to see him you know. In that final duel up at the castle," Sam looked wistful as he broke off from his tangent. "I hate to be the pain makin ya do your job," he ribbed lightly while accepting the whisky sour. He chuckled at the pink umbrella, and took a sip. The whisky cut through the sour like a knife. He didn't mind one bit though, it would only of been bad if the sour was the predominate taste. He put his cigar into an ashtray, and let it burn. He turned back to his pie, taking a few more bites.

 "No we  Obliviators don't deal with Giants much, thankfully. Back in the day we used to, during the two reigns of the one who died. They came out to support him both times. So both times I had to do a lot of obliviatin of muggles to erase the memories. These days the very few Giants left are up in the mountains. Like they were during the in between time of the two wars. But I assure you doll I was right there with the Aurors. You gotta remember this was back in the seventies, more than a few generations of Ministry people ago at this point. Most the Obliviators stayed back when the Aurors chased after the Giants. But I'd already been through the deal with Grindy by this point. I just looked the head Auror dead in the eyes, and told him I was going to. We passed it off as me going with them to wipe the minds of any muggles we came across. But all of us out there knew I was there for blood. Just like them. I wouldn't be so quick to rush into a fight with one though. One Giant is more than enough of a challenge for six wizards, probably a death wish to fight one mono e mono. I got faith in you younger types though. If anyone would figure it out it would be bright young kids like yourself. I never really fit in myself with your typical Obliviators. I was an Auror in America for a while, did pretty much the same thing during all the wars I've been in. I liked being in the middle of the crap too much. Probably too much for my own good."

Another sip, another bite, and then Sam was ready to continue his story. He replaced the cigar into the corner of his mouth and continued.

"So yeah explosions. There we are, just a small group of us. No more than eight. We come across this big sentry just itchin to start smashin up somethin good. I can't remember which of us slung the first spell, so I'll just go ahead and take credit for it. But like I was saying, then it was pandemonium. Boulders are crashing around me like goddamn meteorites, the earth is flying apart at my feet from his blasts. There's eight of us slingin every jinx and curse we know. Most of them are just bouncin off this monster. A boulder the size of a horse flies through the air. It's comin right for me. I cast a spell to slow its descent. I can feel my veins on fire as I put all my effort into keeping this big rock from crushin me. Finally I get out from underneath it, right as it slams the rest of the way down. I'd of been mush! By this time the jig was up and the rest of the Giants knew the score. They start pilin out of the wood work lookin like stuff from nightmares. Hair and muscle and fang blocking out the moon up in the dark sky. I remember it was cloudless that night but I still couldn't see a damn star. It was like they were hidin from the Giants themselves. It was a cold bastard of a night, but we were on fire. Not literally, not all of us anyways. We were burnin up from the effort to cast the Giants back. Nah, not just cast em back, but kill em. We were stewin in the heat. You could see the vapor comin off of us and makin their way up into the night by the light of the fires and the glares of curses."

Sam took a deep pull of his cigar, and let the smoke billow up from his mouth like the steam might of off of their bodies. He stubbed the rest of the cigar out. He took a deep pull from the whisky sour, smacking his lips in enjoyment. Then he pulled out a pack of cheap cigarettes. He lit one on a match that was in his pocket, and then took another sip of his drink. It was almost gone.

"So there we were. Imagine it, about five Giants fightin us. God knows how many hidin further back waiting to for a signal to come help out their brothers. The woods in the area we were in was no more. It had been blown into a blasted heath, like somethin outta Lovecraft. The earth was scorched and black and cratered. Logs made of fallen trees are on fire and being thrown around. Most were blasted to splinters. We're all bleeding. Red drops of blood were thick and oozin in my eyes. I must of had a hundred gashes from that night. Luckily the dragon pox did most of the job of characterin up my face. I can see that two of the Giants had fallen. One look like it had been stupified to death. A real thing I kid you not. Another had a big sharp piece of tree stickin out of its' throat. It was an amazin sight. These titans, these things that you'd never imagine, laying there. They looked even bigger dead. Like bones of the earth. Probably the stuff theys made out of. Ashes to ashes and what not. That's when I see one of our guys take a bad hit. He's sprawled out bleedin from everywhere. We all had so many splinters I'm sure that everyone that was there is still pullin some out to this day. I know I do every now and then. So there's two Giants left, and seven of us standing. We go in like lions for the kill. We're using the last bit of energy we have to send what's left of debris crashin into these monsters over and over. Finally they go down. Then we got our asses out of there. After making sure they were dead if you know what I mean," Sam at this point drew his finger across his throat, leaving the implications hanging. "The one guy who got hurt, tough bloke, he almost died. But he pulled through, had to head back to the rear though to rest up. As for the rest of us we got reinforcements the next day. I think the Ministry must of rounded up everyone with a wand who they trusted. The next day we all went in while they were sleeping. Sixteen stunning spells at once took out the new sentry they posted. Then we got in there and butchered the rest. And thats the story of like two days in the seventies. I kid you not."

Sam leaned back in his chair, and finished off the rest of the cigarette he was smoking. The pie was half eaten but he was full. He downed the rest of the whisky sour. Then he pulled out another galleon and placed it on the bartop.

"Hows about another one of those whisky sours doll?" 

Bethan didn't have terribly much experience with films. Although both of her parents were muggleborn, both of them had been fully ensconced in the ways of the wizarding world by the time she was born, and most of the technology the Ellis' had in their home was out of date and borderline obsolete. They still had an ancient VCR hooked up to their archaic, boxy television set with the tiny screen – the same television set that Beth had been set in front of on the couch on the days when she was poorly as a child, watching some cartoon or another on a VHS tape from the eighties. When it came to movies, her experience was more or less limited to a copy of The Last Unicorn that had been recorded off of the television and a black and white animation treasury featuring Mickey Mouse cartoons. She'd seen Snow White once when she was six, but she'd had a fever at the time, and her boiling brain had warped the whole thing, giving her nightmares for a week. So, needless to say, she wasn't movie-literate. Even so, Sam's story had transported her, and she was very clearly making a movie out of it in her mind. There were dramatic angles and a thrilling soundtrack that made her heart pound in her chest. She didn't realize just how tightly her jaw was clenched as he spun the tale, but her poor teeth were threatening to turn to dust from the strain. Her eyes were distant, focusing on Sam's, but also on nothing at all – she was there with him. Merlin, if reading books had ever given her this much of a thrill even once she'd be a bibliophile by now!

She couldn't snap back to whiskey sours so quickly this time. She had to trudge back down from the mountains in her mind and find her body again. Beth was, at once, both thrilled and rattled to the bone, and it made her feel eager to do something more than just pour liquid into a glass or nearly bust her skull open on puddles. It was like watching a quidditch match. If you were paying attention and you didn't want to hop on a broom and get out there with them the whole time then you were doing it wrong. She just kind of wanted to attack something. “Wait, wait, so how old were you when this happened?” she asked him, a certain desperation in her tone. “And what'd you do after? You just got up and went home and... and what? Had a whiskey sour at the damned 'Broomsticks?” she asked. There was definitely something pleading in her voice, but she wasn't sure why this was all so important to her. It was like she needed to own the story. She could barely go on until she was completely certain just what the hero was supposed to do after the credits rolled.

She did eventually snap out of her stupor and moved to make his drink, but she was still sort of obsessed with this story, and it was unlikely that she'd let it go. This time, instead of rushing, she seemed to take her time, her mind turning the story over and over while she poured. “And why'd you want to go fight so bad, anyway, if you don't mind me asking?” she queried, rewarding him with an even higher whiskey to sour proportion. She skipped the little brolly this time, though. “Because I'm like that, too, you know. I'm sick of waiting. It's like, I just want to do something!” If she seemed to set his glass down on the coaster with a little more force than usual it was because she had.

"Well like I said this was all the seventies. Towards the second half of em. So I would say probably from about fifty seven to fifty nine. Not that old. After that night? No I didn't go home for some time after that. I was on the move constantly. Takes more than taking down one relatively small tribe to be done. Afterwards I think I went back to the office. Probably did have a few drinks. Nothin as good as whisky sours. Probably gin straight. Tastes like pine trees, works as a good antiseptic though. You pour some in yer mouth and then you pour some in yer cuts. Then the next day I went back out with the same group of Obliviators and Aurors. We had more Giant exterminatin to do. Some how our portkey to the office got compromised. We got stuck out in the field for a few days. Could of just apparated out probably. But go where? Back to the office to get sent back out? Nah, we just stayed out, tracking leads, following the destruction. We Obliviators would go in and wipe the mortals minds, and then myself and the Aurors would go kill the Giants. Never met a race so foul as the Giants, more animal than person. We Jews have a long and storied tradition of laying them low."

Sam watched Beth and considered her words as she made his drink. It made him smile to think that his story had fired her up. It was nice to feel important still, even in his old age. Like someone cared that he'd been there. His smile broke into a gravely chuckle as he reached down, and picked up the drink that Beth had lain with such force. He took a deep sip, and closed his eyes. His face radiated the bliss he felt inside. Strong drinks, fiery women, it was almost good as the good old days.

"I had to go fight," Sam said, opening one eye. "I had to because it's the duty of every man who isn't a coward to stand up to injustice. Grindy wanted to oppress all of Europe, and the Nazis wanted all us Jews dead. I couldn't stand back and let all that happen. I was safe in England. But I saw young men going out to fight the scourge of Huns and I knew I had to go give Jerry a kick in the teeth. Once I was knee deep in it I found when I got back that it was all I could do. It's been all I've been able to do ever since. I don't feel right if spells ain't being slung. Unless of course I got a drink in my hand. There's always bad people in the world Beth, always has been, always will be. Go out and crack a couple skulls for the greater good. Probably be a good idea to be an Auror first. The old pansies get their knickers in a twist if you go out and do some justice your own way these days. What's holding you back doll?"

Beth had grandparents, but they were all muggles, and they were all...well, grandparently. None of them were still working, for one thing, and none of them had slaughtered any giants during their prime. Her Nana spent most of her time knitting jumpers and, more recently, little woolies for Beth's little nieces. Her Welsh grandparents, meanwhile, were getting so old that they regularly called her by her older sister's name and asked the same questions a lot. She just didn't have this kind of relationship with anyone old enough to remember this kind of history, and certainly nobody who had actually been there fighting on behalf of wizardkind. These tales were a treat she just didn't get everyday, and they were enough to remind her why she had her own peculiar set of dreams. Unfortunately, remembering her dreams usually meant acknowledging her failures, and owning up to why she was working in some pub while everyone else with the slightest inclination could just join the auror corps and kick dark wizard arse all day.

“It's my marks and that,” she admitted, her lips twisting grumpily. “Seventh year didn't go quite how I'd planned. I sort of... hell, I don't know! It's not that I wasn't serious or anything! I just know the Auror department doesn't want me as-is, so I'm trying to fix it, but if they'd just let me in then I know they could teach me and I wouldn't have to waste my time!” she explained, her words coming quickly, each one colored by frustration and a touch of anger. “I'm willing to give my life for their cause, and they're turning me down because someone did better on a bleeding exam than I did? It's mental. It makes no sense!” Beth could rant on this particular topic for days if left to her own devices.

“And you know how you can tell I really want this, more than any other straight O snowflake who thinks they want to be an auror? Because, do you think I really want to do more school now that I'm done? No, I don't! Not for a second! But I'm willing to crack my school books every day for another year, and then enter their auror school for who knows how many more after that, just so I can get one good shot at some scum practicing dark magic and feel like I've done what I'm supposed to!” she ranted passionately, raising her voice considerably without even realizing she was doing it. She was making a little scene in the pub, and there was some tall bloke on the other side of the dining room standing up to be sure she wasn't in trouble, but she had been ignited and she wasn't convinced she could control herself until that fire fizzled out.”I'm trying to be – whatsit – diplomatic about it all. You know, go through all the right channels, like, do it right. But I have to tell you, Sam, somedays it seems like a waste of my damned time.”

Sam lit up another cigarette while he listened to what Bethan had to say. He couldn't remember what his own grades were when he graduated Hogwarts. He seemed to remember doing well in his classes, and not doing much more past that. He bit down on the end of the filter a little, and sucked smoke deeply into his lungs. He breathed it out around him in vile grey puffs. He put down most of the whisky sour, he had reached the point in his drunkenness where he would be able to finish even straight alcohol in a sip or two. His own light brown eyes, not so different from the color of the whisky in the bottles behind the counter, searched Beth as she spoke with such passion. He could tell she was telling the truth. He could see the drive in her. He breathed more acrid smoke into his battered old lungs, and let it out with a sigh.

"It's not just their loss if ya decide to throw in the towel kid. It'll be the whole world's loss. You got a fire in you. I can tell. I pretty sure the whole damn bar can tell. I can't even remember what the hell I got on those old tests. It takes more than just being good at rememberin facts. You got to have drive, you got to have gamble. You got that gamble, you're alive. Half the old bastards stumblin around in that place don't have a fire in them anymore like you got. What's the issue with the marks? What are you having trouble with? I can't even keep my head straight. What was it you had to do better in? Not Defense Against the Dark Arts I hope. Do you just got problem with test taking?"

Sam let the cigarette dangle from his mouth. He inhaled, and exhaled. Smoke billowed from his nose like a dragon while he spoke like a bullfrog. He reached one scarred old hand over, and laid it on Beth's hand. With his other hand he snatched up his drink, plucked the cigarette out if his mouth, took a drink finishing drought, and then replaced the cigarette in his mouth. The ash hung off the edge of the paper, not too far from the filter, in a long grey arch. The ash threatened to fall apart, and spill all over the old man at any second. He slid the drink away front in front of himself, and with the one hand not on Bethan's he pulled out his wallet again. Two more galleons hit the table top. The ash fell from the end of the cigarette and dusted over his slacks. Sam paid no mind. Instead he was reaching inside his breast pocket, and pulling out the crumpled pack of awful, cheap cigarettes. He held the pack out towards Beth, silently offering her a cigarette for herself.

"Maybe I can talk to somebody in there. Get them to give you a waver or somethin."

“I shouldn't be talking to you about this. I'm gonna lose my job,” she told him, shaking her head a bit as she grudgingly ambled over a few steps and attempted to distract herself by magicking Sam's spent glasses until they were clean. Having a task to do often helped Beth to focus, even if it was a painfully dull task like cleaning up. It didn't usually seem quite as bad as it did tonight, but compared to slaughtering giants, washing glasses seemed like a joke. Despite her misgivings, however, she went on chatting about her marks. He'd asked. It wasn't like she was forcing it on him – and besides, if she lost her job for getting too personal after months of good work then so be it. “They wanted E's. Well, they probably wanted O's, but I gave them A's. And not on everything. Like you said, my Defense was fine. I just got sort of stuck on the potions and that, since I had this mate who used to make sure I was keeping up and... well, that's another story. But, yeah, they didn't want my A's, like, and I don't blame them. I didn't want them either.” The glasses clean, she wandered back toward him, right into the cloud of smoke he'd released. She felt calmer.

She felt his hand on hers and she smiled down at it, turning her own hand over and giving his a squeeze. Sam Roth was good people. She knew that for sure, which was saying a lot, because she'd learned good from bad at a very young age. She eyed him as he added two more galleons to the pile. She hadn't taken them because she'd been keeping his tab in her head – she didn't think he'd be done after a pie and a double, and she'd been right. “Three galleons covers you, love, and I owe you about ten sickles or so, if you're stopping now,” she told him, waving away his offer of a cigarette. She wasn't going to guilt him by saying anything about it, but she knew too much about cancer to have any interest in smoking fags. Depending on how you wanted to analyze it, cancer was part of the reason why she was a barmaid and not an auror right now.

”Maybe I can talk to somebody in there. Get them to give you a waver or somethin.”

“See, this is why you're better than they are. You don't mess around with all of that. You like jumping the queue and pushing yourself right in there,” she smiled, leaning against the bar right in front of him. “But you know what would be worse? Fighting my way in there and then being the worst one. Which, I reckon could happen anyway, even if I do it right, but at least then they won't be able to say it's cause I'm the exception to the rule. Cause if all I wanted to do was point my wand at people for a living I'd just try and get myself into a different department, isn't it?” It was sad, but true. For all of her anger at being denied her dream, there was a part of Beth that didn't quite feel like a real grown up just yet and thanked the stars daily for her extra year. It was conflicting and stupid and it made her wonder if she'd ever walk through the doors on level two and feel like she really belonged there. Much of her bravado was intended to convince other people that she had what it took on the off chance they'd believe her and she'd be able to sneak by without anybody noticing she was completely clueless. She wanted to fight giants, kill dark wizards, and strike down inferi. She wanted to do it with every bit of heart she had to spare. She wanted to be good at it, and she felt like she could. And yet... didn't she still sleep with stuffed animals and let her mum do her laundry?

“You know, this would all be easier if I didn't have a bone to pick. I just hate dark magic. Hate it,” she spat, pushing up and away from the bar. “How're you feeling there, anyway? Had enough yet?”

Sam looked down at his empty glass. For the life of him he couldn't remember when he finished the last of the libation. He suddenly felt like he was stuck in a desert after having just come from a land suffering from a long drought. There was an overwhelming thirst in his throat. His skin was warm as warm could be. His stomach was full of savory pie, and his bladder was screaming at him to go let loose the floodgates. Yet he thirsted. He thirsted in a way only the true booze lovers, who secretly hated the spirits, could. He looked down and noticed his cigarette was out in the ashtray before him. He lit another. It made the thirst worse. He cleared his throat with a croak that echoed. It sent him into another coughing fit. He had to quickly feel for his handkerchief, which he found and covered his mouth with.

"Set a shot down of good fire whisky for me. A double. Set one down for yourself too Beth, you could use one after havin to deal with me for as long as you have been. For me and you grab your best stuff off the wall. I'm talkin stuff older than me. Well maybe not that old, but nothin short of older than you. For the rest of the tramps and devils in here give em a shot of rotgut. Tell em to come to the counter if they want their poison. After that I got to piss by I'm not going anywhere unless you're throwing me out on my drunken old ass."

Sam reached into his wallet again. The creature had full hold of him now. He slid a handful of galleons over the stained old wood of the bar top towards Beth. He felt around in his wallet for more coins but came up empty. He thought he remembered through his drunken haze that he had an emergency galleon or two in his coat pocket. If it came to it he decided he'd use the last of it, for more booze.

"If that ain't enough then make the drunks fight for what it'll buy. You won't lose your job doll. It was on me for asking. It's not your fault the bastards at the Ministry want to hold people back from doing somethin they're passionate about. E's and A's and O's. Eff em all is what I say. It's what you can do, what you're driven to do, that's what matters. Thanks for saying I'm better Beth. I probably ain't, but it's nice to hear. And what would be worse," he said, pausing for a moment, "What would be worse would be to give up. You can always get better. You can't get better if you're not even doin it."

Sam wobbled on his stool and then leaned forward against the bar for support. He scratched at his short beard and smoked away on the filtered cigarette between his meaty old fingers. His face was flushed and his hair was looking distinctly disheveled from running his hands through it. The thirst in his throat was still roaring to be sated.

"Who don't hate dark magic darlin. The punks who cast it maybe. Only because they don't know the price. You need something to take your mind off of all the stuff you got goin on. Sounds like you got a million and a half crazy things pecking at you, trying to tear your pretty head to pieces. You need to go out and have some fun one of these days. It works wonders."