(3:30pm)

There was always something especially exciting and fulfilling about playing at outdoor venues.  Away from the carefully ordered rows of chairs, it was much less concert-ish, much less formal.  People were left to congregate at will, clustered here or there and, generally, much more at ease and relaxed.  There were more casual conversations, more dancing and, generally, more sitting around enjoying the music for music's sake - much more like it had been in the early days. 

The early days.  They seemed so distant and foreign now.  Like they belonged in someone else's life story. 

They'd played until late at the closing day of the Woodcroft Day festival.  The night had started out with a romping opening gig for the Wyrd Sisters who were playing the first of what was bound to be many reunion shows.  The cliche fate of bands whose time had come but whose members experienced emotional or financial separation anxiety when apart from each other.  They'd rounded out the show with a collaborative set which their managers had carefully planned and choreographed to appear entirely impromptu. 

By eleven, Dennis, along with a couple members from both bands, had congregated at a local resident's place for drinks and a late night jam session - a collection of activities that had kept him pretty well occupied into early, early wee hours of the morning.  There had been cruel hints of an early summer sunrise by the time Dennis had clambered into his room at the Three Broomsticks. 

And, the day was fully under way by the time Dennis had stumbled down to the barroom with an impressive cotton ball in his mouth and a steady, rhythmic throb behind his temple. 

"Bangers and mash," Dennis mumbled to the nearest person who looked as though they might have been an employee.  A healthy dose of grease always did a hung over body good. "And, Irish tea."  Ahh, a true breakfast of champions.  He slumped into a nearby booth and slid an abandoned Daily Prophet towards him.

Altair's stomach had been grumbling at him all day. It was weird when he lived a floor above his work environment, that he couldn't take a few seconds to go upstairs and get a snack. However, seeing as he was currently mostly out of groceries, that was a problem. Walking towards the exit, he shot a glance back to his desk clerk, Sophie, and said, "Oy, Soph. I'm going to the Broomsticks for a bit, catch up on my lunch. Tell J. to handle the place while I'm gone." She nodded and he walked out the door.

J. was a second magizoologist he hired on, who had specific studies in Asian creatures and that area. He was, afterall, a Korean wizard, younger than Altair. Altair figured he could use another hand at the clinic, and what better way than one who was skilled in other parts of the animal world.

It was around forty minutes after three o'clock when he stepped into the pub, ready for whatever the bartender had to offer. Sneaking up to the counter, he placed a few coins and chimed in his order, "I think I'll be having a double pumpkin juice, and give me whatever the daily vegetarian special is." At the request of the vegetarian meal, the bartender raised an eyebrow, but he knew Altair as a regular and he knew the lover of animals refused to eat meat.

There'd been strange rumors floating around Hogsmeade late the previous night.  Something about some strange screams and the sudden disappearance of the Aurors.  According to the rumors, the Aurors hadn't returned to supervise the remainder of the festival.  During the course of their jam session, they'd tossed around a few far-fetched theories that ranged from conspiracy to alcohol.  But, a quick flip through the pages of the morning's Daily Prophet revealed little information that would verify or contradict any of the theories.

A rather awake and alert fellow came into the pub and through the haze of his headache, Dennis watched as he sat down at the bar.  "That's healthy," Dennis concluded as he listened to the fellow's order.  His own ordered meal delivered, Dennis looked down at the pair of greasy sausages propped up in the pile of gravy-drowned mashed potatoes.  The plate was followed by a cup of tea to which the waiter added a hefty splash of whiskey.  With a shrug, he speared a sausage and bit off the end.

"You live in town?" he asked, setting the fork down and glancing at fellow.  "You must be glad all the chaos is over."

Upon seeing his meal, it looked less than what he ordered. The bartender gave him another odd look, and then turned his back and walked away. "I make my living curing animals, not eating them!" He sort of yelled it at the man, receiving more than a few looks from the patrons of the pub. Shaking it off, he grabbed his 'meal' and settled into a seat close to a blonde fellow looking rather disheveled. His face looked familiar, but Altair's mind wasn't in working order.

"You live in town? You must be glad all the chaos is over."

The blonde bloke had made his way to Altair, bringing with him his own 'meal' which looked as disheveled as him. Altair's mouth twitched and his left eyebrow inched up a bit. He pulled his attention to the man. "Yes, I live down the block a bit, atop the magizoology clinic. Actually, I own it and run it." He smiled, taking a chunk from his vegetables. "And as for the chaos, well... I dwell in it everyday."

Munching on a mouthful of greasy sausage, Dennis glanced sideways at the fellow next to him as he talked back to the bartender.  Lifting an eyebrow, Dennis looked from the customer to the bartender and looked down at his own plate once more.  Dennis shrugged and took another bite.  So the fellow worked with creatures.  "Don't some of the animals you cure eat other animals?"  Dennis asked, after swallowing the mouthful of mashed potatoes. 

With his attention turned towards the whiskey spiked tea, Dennis didn't notice the curious glance his neighbor cast him.  The alcohol in the hit his bloodstream almost like an overdue dose of medicine and his headache eased slightly.  "Ahh," Dennis nodded.  "Yeah, I'd imagine that'd be rather chaotic at times."  Chaos wasn't always a bad thing, though.  At least not in his opinion - chaos tended to be something wrocker lived for.  "Cool," he offered with a nod.  "Name's Creevey.  Dennis Creevey," offered in introduction.

Watching this fellow eat was an entertainment in its own right, that is, if one loved the company of blood and gore. Altair was keen to that genre of work, but he'd rather not watch the munching of an animal into yet another animal. Looking down at his own plate, he smiled at his salad-like dish, even though it was a pathetic excuse for a meal. "I really need to find a new spot for lunch." He said it to himself, though out loud, and proceeded to get more stares, especially from the regular patrons.

As the blonde man introduced himself, Altair's mind clicked together. He remembered a Creevey from Hogwarts, a boy that was a year older than himself. He also remembered the Creevey boy disappearing from the area after his fourth year, which coincidentally fell on the final battle of the Second Year.

Altair's brown eyes moved back into focus and on Dennis's face. "I remember you. I was a year below you at Hogwarts. I'm Gairden, Altair Gairden." He extended his hand over the table with a smile brimming. "By the way, whatever happened to you?" For some reason, he also remembered a Creevey not surviving the war, maybe his older brother.

The headache subsiding, Dennis shoveled a mouthful of potatoes in his mouth with a new sense of satisfaction.  Perhaps, sometime in the past, he'd embraced the more refined side of life but, especially as the years since leaving school dragged on, his motivation for such things grew less and less. 

An amused smirk flickered at the corner of Dennis' mouth as he glanced at his mealtime companion - or more specifically, his plate.  "Well, the British Isles haven't ever really been known for their hearty vegetarian meals.  Right?"  With one tine of his fork, he carved a shallow line in his potatoes.  "I used to make these corn pancake things - some recipe my father brought back from a business trip.  But -" Dennis' lips pursed slightly before he shrugged.  "Been years since I cooked much of anything." 

Dennis wondered if he should pretend he remembered the fellow from their school days.  Of course, that's what everyone hoped for, but it'd be a lie.  He didn't remember much from his fifth year before he dropped out and ... well ... he had forgotten almost everything from his first three years.  Not necessarily against his will.  Dennis took Altair's hand and gave it a firm shake but he stiffened slightly when Altair inquired about his history.  It was a reasonable curiosity, of course, but it wasn't one he was accustomed to discussing casually.

"Well - we weren't exactly welcome to stick around for a year there," Dennis said, too forced to be convincingly dismissive.  "We formed a band for a while until - when the war ended.  Tried school again my fifth year but bagged it after flunking near all my OWLs.  Went back to the band.  Three Owl Standard - might have heard of it."  The band had offered musical entertainment for Potterwatch and had quickly risen to notoriety in the years following the war.  "So, you work with animals these days.  Ever get bit?"