InsaneJournal

Susan loved her Pub. Her mother loved it, her father loved it, and so did Amelia before she was killed. Susan was sure that even her uncle loved the place before the murder of not only him, but of his family. Yet, she always felt like something was missing in her heart. She didn't care how terribly cheesy that sounded. She had always wanted more out of her life, and had such dreams that they still made her head turn every time she thought of them. Unfortunately, the past week had made those dreams re-enter her mind and stayed there until all she wanted to do was curl up and cry. It was pathetic, but with all she did, Susan believed she deserved a few days of that feeling.

The rest of the staff had finished closing themselves out and helped her clean up from the great night shift. Making sure to lock the door and put up a few extra wards, Susan had gone back behind the bar to grab a glass. The best part of her job was the fact she worked at a Pub and could poor herself a drink or two when she really needed it. Tonight was one of those nights. For awhile, she sat at one of the booths with her knees pulled up to her chest with the glass of scotch, neat of course, sitting on the table in front of her. Her shoes were left forgotten on the floor as she just stared out of the window.

Rain was starting to poor, and those few poor souls that were on the street ran for cover under the nearest building or just braving the storm hoping to get home as quickly as possible. A small breeze  made Susan shiver and snapped her out of her thoughts. Instead of allowing herself to wallow for hours, Susan stood up and walked to the bar. In a box under the counter she pulled her pointe shoes out. They had been coloured red, and were broken in to the point they were almost ready to be retired. They were the pointe shoes she had worn to her audition. An audition she had before finishing Hogwarts. An audition that she had done so well in that she had been accepted in the Royal British Ballet Company. Good lucky pointes she had called them once she told her parents the news.

Sitting at the nearest stool next to the bar, Susan laced the shoes up her leg. For a second or a minute she just stood there looking at them with a smile on her face. Susan remembered the number she had done for the audition like it was only yesterday. First, she stretched out her muscles and moved to get the blood flowing again. Susan was good a few things in life, ballet was one of them. Before she flicked her wand at the jukebox in the corner, she downed the scotch in one gulp and let the shiver of the alcohol move down her throat. The song was picked and she smiled as the memories were allowed to flow through her. Rolling her skirt up just enough that it hit her mid thigh and out of the way, she slid a leg out in front of her. An arm moved above her head and she slid the same leg move until it was completely behind her. Again, she flicked her want to watch as the tables, chairs and stools were pushed to another side of the bar. Now she had room.

Her movements were clear and precise, fluid and perfect. It had been the same number she had done for her audition. It wasn't until she moved to go on pointe that she felt the tear slide down her cheek. She didn't stop, and just let the tears fall as she continued the dance. Merlin, it felt good but she also realized what it was that she had been missing. When Susan came to a stop to courtesy, she fell to the ground in a depressed ball.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck." She repeated as if the word would help her regain a piece of her that had been lost. Susan was apart of this war. A war she didn't want to be part of. Those on the side she was fighting about were able to live their dreams. Become an actress, do nothing, marry her true love. She didn't have time for that. What she did have time for was helping others and pouring drinks. It should have been enough, but she wanted to dance. She was excellent at it and ballet was a part of her.

After an hour or so on the floor, Susan stood up, slipped the shoes off and put them back into the box under the counter. She grabbed a nearly empty bottle of scotch and shut off the lights in the pub. No, she loved this pub as much as her family. It was as much a part of her as she was apart of it. One last look and she went up the stairs to finish wallowing and drinking the last of the scotch while listening to old Vinyls of Tchaikovsky's Sleeping Beauty. Like Anna Pavlova, it was the ballet that made her want to become a prima ballerina.