As usual Freddie was stumbling out of bed hungover. Without looking, he immediately grabbed for his glasses and forced them onto his face. They weren't spectacles for reading or vision, just sunglasses that helped him out most mornings. He crawled into some clothes and went downstairs into his kitchen, which doubled as the kitchen for his shop-restaurant-cafe-performance space-pub-hangout spot, The Artful Dodger.

He entered the scene with a large belch, then scratched his belly and made his way over to the fridge. He pulled out some eggs and cracked a bunch into a bowl, whisking them and then pouring them onto a pan over the stove, then used his wand to spark a fire beneath it. He threw on some spices and cast another enchantment so it would cook itself. Magic was the bomb.

Yawning, he stretched and performed a similar process with a giant teapot. He wandered over to the cabinet that kept the dozens of teacups and took out a bunch, and assuming there would be people here eventually, he placed teabags in each one. Each cup had a different flavor, which kept things interesting.

Suddenly, though, his teapot started screeching and sputtering, not because it was filled with boiling water but because it was pissed off for some reason. It was shaking and looked about ready to explode. What the bloody hell was the matter?? He'd been nearly done readying the tea! Next, the pan of scrambled eggs started shooting mostly raw egg around his kitchen. Fred remained still, his eyes following the spattering of eggs. "Uh...."

Why was Margo here again?  Oh yeah, some of the guys from the reserve said they were stopping in Hogsmeade and who was Margo to say no on the short day?  Some drinks, a little bit of food?  And Hawkins volunteered to pay for it? Yes, please! 

So away they went and Gibbons mentioned something about grabbing his daughter some sweets on the way home, they’d stopped in Honeydukes (Margo wouldn’t pretend she didn’t buy anything and wasn’t shoving peppermint toads into her mouth by the handful at the very moment.  Of course not).  Then, Hawkins mentioned this weird place – “The Artful Dodger,” which sounded more like an old home for the wayward and depressed from one of those old books Margo never would have touched.  Not that anyone had ever really forced her to read – speaking to her grades in all deemed non-useful subjects. 

Regardless though, when they walked in… Margo was more than a little confused.  It looked like a messy living room and while she could usually appreciate that aesthetic, she was a little bit pickier about where she almost ate… and did most things… maybe she wasn’t into this unless it was her own place.  Plus there were books and what looked like a big stage – Margo was thoroughly confused. 

She mentioned as much to Hawkins and Gibbons, but they assured her they weren’t crazy, and Margo could only hope she could trust this nonsense.  Of course, she couldn’t because… there were definitely sounds and when they got to the back…

“Well now I’ve bloody well seen everything… walking into this sap’s house?”  Gibbons and Hawkins just laughed. 

Blinking once more at the egg drama that was unfolding, Freddie decided to abandon the entire endeavor. While the eggs and tea played out their little tantrums, he would get another drink. One of the most important lessons he'd ever learned in his life was that the best cure for a hangover was a little hair of the dog that bit you. In this case it was whiskey.

At this point Freddie was still convinced that it was early in the morning, even feeling a small degree of pride that he'd been up so early. Normally the Dodger didn't really get in motion until noon, and that was mainly due to Lu's efforts. Bless that woman. He heard voices from the entryway and decided to see who was up already.

Yawning, Freddie passed by a window and noticed it was rather dark for morningtime. Was he really up that early? He couldn't have been -- he went to sleep just as the sun had been rising, he was pretty sure. So this meant that.... Freddie stopped in his tracks, blinking a few times before finally coming to a realization.

"Oh bloody hell!" Freddie said aloud, "I've missed the day!" Groaning, he moved toward the group of folks who'd just come in. He hard something about sap's house and moved past them, ignoring the comment. "Mornin', folks. I think it'll be kegs and eggs today."

 If Margo knew this place, she might have been amused, but she was still weirded out.  The kettle was still whistling like it was nobody’s business and there were flecks of eggs flying everywhere – that could not be up to code.  She never thought she’d have reservations about a place to drink… until she walked into this little slice of crazy. 

Kegs and eggs. 

“Just the kegs, thanks,” Margo frowned – she was not eating anything that was coming out of that kitchen.  It was one thing when it was her own mess, but no.  Just no.  Gibbons laughed though and assured him it would be fine, and then called him mate – so Margo had to assume they knew each other at least a little bit.  They had to, or they never would have walked into his bloody house – even if it had a sign above it.  Maybe he was absolutely mad.  It seemed likely. 

“Sleep through the day again, guv?” Hawkins asked with his signature lopsided grin.  Margo probably would have been all over that, if not for the fact someone else (who was very vocal about it) already was.  But he pulled up a seat and Gibbons did the same, itching the underside of his scruffy chin as he motioned to Margo. 

What a weird assortment, she thought as she took a seat (tentatively) near her two friends. 

Feel free to GMod Gibbons and Hawkins.

Freddie was well aware of the fact that the Artful Dodger was a weird place. He took pride in that fact, always preferring to be original rather than boring. What kind of place had specific hours of operation and a fixed menu? Certainly not the Dodger. Freddie would never allow for such rubbish. But the lady Gibbons and Hawkins had brought in tonight -- she didn't look as smugly pleased by the Dodger as ol' Fred was.

"Probably for the best," Freddie responded to her comment about the kegs. Freddie lazily sauntered over to the bar and turned the spigot to fill a mug of ale for the broad. That was when Gus decided he needed to make an appearance, swooping in and knocking the tap from the keg beneath the bar and cackling as he ascended back into the walls, or wherever he creeped. Freddie yelled and attempted to plug the hole with his thumb. "Bloody ghost! You can piss off to the next life now!"

There was the ugliest ghost Margo had ever seen in her entire life, and it was doing the unholy thing of hurting a keg.  She’d seen some ridiculous things in her time, Peeves was the weirdest poltergeist ever and she’d even joined in a time or two when he was throwing things or being a general nuisance, but this – this was something else entirely.  “What the feck is up with that bloody thing?” Margo pushed herself up by her elbows on the counter and looked after the shrieking ghost. 

Hawkins shook his head.  “When are you going to give up and call the Ministry on that thing?” he asked and rolled his shoulders back before rolling up his sleeves.  Margo glanced over and blinked.  How was no one else as outraged by this as she was? 

“That’s still going to work, yeh?” she looked between all of them.  Alcohol was so necessary to make sure she could handle whatever else happened in this weird, weird place.

"If only it were that easy, mate," Freddie sighed. He had too much of a conscience to exorcise Gus, as this was Gus' house originally, and Freddie hadn't exactly obtained it through the most legal means. It was a run-down shack when he'd come to it, practically a pile of sticks. He'd easily befriended Gus, who was happy (albeit a tad reluctant) to let him remodel the place.

The skeptical woman looked even more suspicious now, her expression showing her clear pessimism about the scene developing around her. Freddie became uncomfortable at the sight of discomfort, so he wanted to fix this up right away. "Looks like you'll be having pumpkin juice tonight!" Gus cackled, as if he hadn't done this a thousand times before.

With a flurry of curses under his breath, Freddie magically reattached the cap, with the loss of only a bit of ale. Freddie smeared the puddle across the floor with his foot and filled up four steins. Three of them were for the customers who had joined him, and the final one was of course for himself. He needed it, especially considering all of the madness that Felcher had just caused.  He handed the first mug to the lady to appease her worries.

"Names Freddie, and this's probably the oddest bloody pub you'll ever get sloshed in, but I'll make it my personal mission to ensure that you have a bash." Freddie gestured with his drink, insinuating that he was serious. He knew what people said about his shop... and what regular shops were supposed to be like. "Personally I think normal is about as exciting as a flobberworm's first birthday." Freddie tipped his glass towards the woman. "Cheers."

“There’s got to be something: if it were harmless, I could understand – but…” she motioned to the keg and shook her head.  “Bloody ghosts.”  Margo dealt with flesh and blood creatures; she wasn’t about the ghost thing.  She thought there was a weird cousin or something along the way that was invested in the dead side of things, but he was weird from what she remembered.  Possibly evil. 

It happened sometimes. 

Whatever the case, Margo settled back in her seat and sighed.  At least there was only a brief break in the pouring of alcohol.  A mug got slid her way and Margo could at least breathe a little easier, knowing that there was a reason to stay.  Wrapping her hands around her glass, taking a big sip of very cold, very refreshing ale.  As long as the drinks were good, she could handle it. 

When he introduced himself, and his bar, at least there was some kind of explanation.  She shrugged and took another drink as Gibbons leaned on the counter.  “After a day on the reserve…” he shook his head, brown hair swinging around his cheeks, a jagged scar connecting the corner of his eye to his chin. 

Margo raised her glass and tapped it against Gibbons’, leaning over Hawkins in the process.  “Cheers, Freddie,” Margo looked at the raggedy looking owner and tipped her glass too, since it was the thing to do – purposefully leaning Hawkins out and grinned at him in a cheeky way before she turned her attention back.  “Even if normal is boring… how the hell did you get the idea for this?”

Freddie totally sympathized with the lady's agitations about ghosts, but most of the time Gus was more like a mate who could float through walls. He filled up another mug of ale and put it down at an empty bar stool at the end of the bar. "I have my ways of dealing with 'im," Freddie commented. He returned to the group and to his ale, which he drank a generous amount of before immediately refilling.

Clearly this gang worked together, and he was pretty sure the last time the men had been here they said something about dragons. "You lot work with dragons? What's yer worst burn?" If there was one thing Freddie loved about interacting with other humans, it was seeing their nasty scars. He didn't know why he derived such joy from it, he just found the weird and gross stories to be hilarious and fascinating.

Even if normal is boring... how the hell did you get the idea for this?"

It was an inquiry that Freddie was used to receiving, and yet he never had a solid answer for it. "Dunno, really. My bruv' and I fixed up this shack and had our mates round for drinks all the time. So we thought, why not open a pub?" Freddie drank a bit. "Then of course you have the stragglers that stay all the time," he gave a nod towards Roger, who was enjoying a drink by himself in the corner of the bar, "so of course you need to feed 'em. And then they steal your books, so I thought if I can't stop 'em, I better charge 'em." He rolled his eyes but was smiling. Really, Freddie was just happy people still read books. Kids these days seemed to have such... different interests. "An' of course, ye gotta have music." That was pretty much Freddie's life philosophy.

Finally the drinker-less mug of ale found its purpose as Gus reappeared. Freddie nodded towards Margo and her mates, giving them a look that said "watch this" and gestured toward the ghost. He sipped on his ale innocently, deliberately looking away as Gus reacted to the mug.

"Oh Fred... did you pour this for me..."  Gus moaned as he dramatically flung himself into the air. Lying on his back, he floated down a little until he was hovering next to the bar, his head facing the mug. "Sweet, sweet ale.... How I miss the way you feel inside of me...." Gus sighed and sat upright, settling onto the stool meant for the beer drinker. Gus laid his head down on the bar, blinking at the ale. You could see wisps of his ghostliness through the beer.

It was very difficult for Freddie not to laugh when Gus said he missed having ale inside him, knowing that even in context the phrasing Gus had chosen was really misguided. Struggling a bit to keep it together, Freddie managed to say, "S'all right Gus, man," Freddie said as if he were comforting a child. "You can still smell it, right?" Freddie, of course, already knew the answer to this.

"NO, I can't smell it, you naive banshee!" Gus wailed. He fled through the wall, back to wherever it was that Gus liked to hang out when he wasn't pestering the Dodgers.

Hawkins flashed a toothy grin (even though he was missing one of his front canines – a rather nasty swipe with a sick tail – would have taken out more of his teeth but it was a weak one and mostly caught him in the gut with his face hitting the ground hard).  “Aye, dragons – in Wales,” he further explained.  The question about grossest scar didn’t seem to bother him and, of course, the showboater he was, he stood off his stool and pulled his shirt off his shoulder to reveal long, pink lines dragged across.  “Nails,” Hawkins grinned, “good swipe right at me.” 

Gibbons, of course, rolled his eyes at the display and put his mug back on the counter after a long swig.  “That’s nothing,” he waved his hand.  “I have a nice chunk, right out my arse from a set of teeth,” he snorted and went to stand up. 

“Oi! Nobody needs to see that,” Hawkins shook his head and motioned for the other man to sit down.  Margo laughed along, never one to turn down a good butt joke – or a good butt for that matter, but really – Gibbons and Hawkins didn’t know the half of it when it came to good injuries.  “I’m missing an entire leg, blokes.  Might as well just buy me a pint since I win,” she flashed a grin and leaned down to knock on her very metal leg, which made a sort of clinky sound when it collided with her firestone ring. 

It’d started quite the rumor mill a year ago, but it’d died down once something else came up on the pureblood scene.  Honestly.  She had a right laugh at the whole story about the place though – and the ghost who looked a pint like she did after a long day of work. 

As it bemoaned its inability to smell things, Margo lifted her pint to her nose and drew in a deep breath, letting it out with a happy sigh.  “Now this is some fine beer,” she shook her head.  “Agreed, boys?” she looked to her company and raised her glass, they murmured in agreement and raised their glasses to clink with her, and then offered the same to the scruffy looking owner of the place. 

“Do any events in this place?” Hawkins said, “you know? Speed date your cousin night or something?  Amherst, you familiar with that one?” he ribbed and eblowed her in the side.  Margo rolled her eyes.  Pureblood circles were small and everyone was related somehow… it just so happened.  No one made a big deal about it – except her coworkers. 

She just took another long draw of beer and rolled her eyes, “If you do have other people here,” she turned to the owner again, “Keep these two out.  They’ll scare away all your visitors.”

As the dragon workers swapped injury stories, Freddie listened attentively. There were few things better than a nice, gross tale of gore. Plus, these stories came with dragons. In all Freddie's life, he'd never encountered anyone with better scars than a dragon trainer. He was endlessly impressed with their bravado - gnarly scars came with a sense of pride. A seal of toughness. Freddie also thought dragons were mega cool and longed for the patience to have the qualifications to work with them.

One of the men offered to show a missing chunk of his bum, and that was when Freddie decided to shield his eyes. Luckily Gibbons was stopped before it was too late. Laughing, Freddie casually grabbed his mug and continued to chuckle as he took a sip.

"I'm missing an entire leg, blokes...."

Freddie was suddenly grateful for his stein, as it hindered his ability to fully react to that news. Instead, Freddie's eyebrows lifted a bit, displaying his surprise. He never would've guessed that the woman was short a limb, but sure enough, when she rapped on her leg, it didn't make any leg-like noise at all.

"That is brilliant," Freddie commended her. "Did it come with any upgrades? Can it be used as a flask or a camera or sommat?" He was very curious about this, and actually pretty serious. Freddie was under the assumption that if you had come into the unfortunate circumstance of losing a body part, you'd at least get a better one in return.

Besides that, Margo seemed alright. At least she'd gotten back up on that hippogriff, as they say -- or back on that dragon, rather, which was even more badass than riding a hippogriff. Freddie clinked glasses with everyone and said "Cheers, mates." At the Artful Dodger, there were no strangers -- just friends you hadn't met yet.

"Do you have any events in this place.... Speed date your cousin night or something? Amherst, you familiar with that one?"

As Margo sulked, Freddie became curious about the nature of that particular inside joke but let the comment slip. "Well, 'fraid you're out of luck on that one, but if ye really need to get your rocks off I'd be happy to host a Hawkins family reunion." Freddie flashed an amused, devilish grin and drank some more ale.

"Some stuff happens here, just come any night o' the week really," Freddie answered. "Tuesdays we do trivia, open stage night, that kinda shite. You a singer, Hawkins? Margo?" He looked at each of them pointedly.

“Just made of metal,” Margo shrugged when he said there was an upgrade necessary.  “It’s not dragon food, so I guess that’s a good upgrade as any, right?” she laughed and took a big swig of her drink.  The other men seemed willing to admit that she won that round of compare the injury (news flash: Margo always won that game), and when she had guzzled back the ale, Hawkins motioned to refill her stein on him (fantastic!). 

She was not pleased with Hawkins a moment later, however, when he made fun of her particular situation.  It wasn’t like it was a big deal anymore – hell, he hadn’t talked to her in months.  All over what Margo truly believed to be the truth!  It didn’t matter that she had been drunk – still true. 

Whatever the case, she was happy when more beer appeared in front of her and she could drink half of it quickly, because she was mad.  Pursing her lips, she swallowed the inhuman amount of alcohol in her mouth and then wiped her lips on her sleeve.  “You have to get in touch with the Central Zoo in order for that to happen?” she was finally able to come up with a suitable comeback that made her smile again – forget the ridiculousness that was her old personal life. 

She was a new Margo!  A better one – one with beer!  Gibbons practically spit his out at the prospect of either of them singing though and shook his head.  Jerking his thumb towards the two of them, he shook his head.  “Both of ‘em are as dumb as rocks and have voices like the beasts they work with.  You don’t want these two around.” 

Margo raised her eyebrows.  “Same to you, Gibbs,” she sneered and then took another sip of her beer.  “You should get darts,” Margo suddenly looked up, “you know – the ones that make the sounds and explode and whatnot.  Great bar game, that one.” 

Freddie was amused by Margo's comment but was now only mildly impressed with her false leg. "Be better if it was a flask," Freddie muttered before drinking some more. He was running a bit low so he put the mug beneath the tap next to him and pulled the lever refilling it nearly to the brim and then taking a long sip before it had the chance to realize it should spill, all without looking and in one swift move. This wasn't his first day at the pub.

The conversation about Hawkins' family relations persisted, Margo furthering the battle of insults. "'s long as they're domesticated, mate," Freddie said seriously. This bunch seemed to get along best by flinging abuse at one another. They were a special type of masochist, weren't they, to always be facing the line of fire -- whether it was dragons or people.

"Well you know what they say- those who can't do, heckle," Freddie said of their singing. Open stage nights were great whether the musicians were talented or not, in Freddie's opinion. At least they'd given it a shot. When Margo mentioned darts, though, Frederick's face grew very grim and he looked at her darkly. "We do not mention that game here."

If Margo were better at conjuring magic (or most magic, as it were), she would have been more than happy to make everyone supremely uncomfortable by conjuring the very game the man looked at her so seriously and warned her against.  She considered the possible risks for a moment, and then decided better.  Anything that exploded, conjured by her, would probably leave this whole place leveled. 

She sipped her beer and arched an eyebrow at the bar owner.  “Some accident that left you scarred and traumatized?” Margo asked, a smirk creeping onto her expression.  She was not an empathetic person and her desire to rib someone was much higher than her desire to preserve their sanity. 

“I suppose you have a ban on exploding snap,” she questioned, “and chess?” she looked up over the rim of her beer.  “S’why you have to rely on lame karaoke?”

There had been a time in Freddie's life, eons ago, when he had been a passionate darts player. He was not only the reigning champion of the Artful Dodger which was just starting to populate itself with customers, but he was also unbeatable at many of the other local pubs. That all changed one fateful day when he came across a swashbuckling young wizard who not only turned out to be an extremely sore loser, but rather adept at hexes. He'd nailed Freddie to the wall, pinning him there like a large exhibit in an entomologist's collection.

"Nah, just the Game that Must Not Be Mentioned," Freddie said calmly. "You're more than welcome to risk your life playing exploding snap or participate in cool karaoke." He specifically emphasized the word 'cool' because that's what karaoke was. Especially if it wasn't karaoke and was actual live music.