He'd apparated into Diagon, as far from where the Leaky Cauldron has stood as possible.  As long as he didn't see it, he was fine.

Those times when inadvertently he'd seen it straight on, he either froze or almost involuntarily apparated.  The latter had happened twice now.  Once back to the safe room in the Prewett Manor, it had been the day after the full moon and apparently that had been the safe place to go.  Even though he hated the room.

The second time, Iggy had found himself in his former apartment.  Which was in a muggle area and now had a nice muggle couple living there.  His father had called in some favors with the obliviators to take care of that.  And then his family had found out about his problems.  And the fact that he'd quit the band in the middle of November.  Well, he just had stopped going to rehearsals and gigs the day before the full moon and hadn't been back since.

Instead he'd been at Calaveras, drinking.  Iggy did usually eat lunch and dinner there as well, but that was to keep himself from getting sick from all the drinking he did.  But, it all just made the days easier to get through.  And since his family hadn't yet stooped to following him during the day, Iggy just had to deal with them at night.  So far, his father, or grandfather, or one of his aunts or uncles or cousins had been in his apartment every night he got home to check on him.  The alcohol made it easier to deal with the time it took to get from the front door to his bedroom and ignore them.  That had been going on for two weeks now.

Morgan had said there was nothing wrong with him physically.  But that hadn't made him feel much better.  And anything smaller than his bedroom made him anxious, and the only reason he could sit at Calaveras was because it was a large room and from his table he could see the doors to the kitchen and to the alley.  His new wand, which still felt off, sat next to his fork on the table.  Ready if he needed it.

He raised his empty glass to get the waiter's attention.  At this point they knew him well enough to bring him another drink,.  And hopefully his food.  He'd been there through most of the day so far.  He arrived as usual around mid-afternoon, which was about as early as Iggy was able to convince himself to get out of bed.  And they'd even stopped kicking him out for the transition from pub to restaurant.  He just moved from a couch to a table near the end.  Which Iggy appreciated more than they probably realized.

Calaveras was quiet in the afternoons between lunch and dinner. The staff turned over, the kitchen was tearing down and setting up, there wasn't a proper bartender, not until five. Nate Briggs showed up for his shift on time and snuffed his cigarette before coming in through the back door straight through the kitchens.  He was damp from the walk through the winter outside and shed his bag and coat on the hooks.

Typical day.  He'd been out of Azkaban since April and back to Calaveras since June and things were quiet, routine, and dull - just what the healer ordered. Azkaban had quieted him well down. He was content, for the while, to share a soft bed with Dazmond, do what he pleased, and walk outside.

He tied on an apron and checked the schedule on the wall.

"Here."  Grey Mila, the day cook, handed him a hot plate and a short glass.  "I'm leaving. Take care of this, yea?"

Nate wasn't a waiter, but he knew this order.  It was Calaveras's new regular.  He came out from the kitchens and went across the dining room to one of the only occupied tables.  Nate sat down the plate and glass and sat himself down as well.

"Alright, Iggy?" he greeted, then ate one of Iggy Prewett's chips.  Iggy didn't look well. Hungover? Drunk? Could be both.

"What?  Oh. Ah... Yes.  I'm fine."  Iggy slurred, he hadn't even noticed Nate sit down he was so lost in his head and paying attention to everything but the man approaching his table.  It was a dangerous mix and he silently chided himself for not noticing the man until he spoke.

"Oi, get your own."  He said with a fake laugh  He avoided those he could, but Iggy tried to at least fake with the staff at Calaveras since he saw them everyday.  Some days he was better at it than others.  And today was not one of those days.  "I wish people would stop asking me that.  Do I look that bad?"  He was pretty sure he'd showered that morning.  He didn't think he should look that bad.  And he wasn't hungover.   He'd never really stopped drinking long enough to get one.