|Beth H (bethbethbeth) wrote in hp_beholder,|
@ 2010-04-26 13:19:00
|Entry tags:||beholder_2010, bill weasley, charlie weasley, charlie/viktor/bill, fic, rating:nc17, slash, threesome, viktor krum|
FIC: "For Whom the Bell Clonks" for gala_apples
Title: For Whom the Bell Clonks
Pairings: Charlie Weasley/Viktor Krum/Bill Weasley
Word Count: 4121
Warnings: Explicit sexual conduct, incestuous-ish-ness
Summary: Maybe it was the echo of goats long past, but there was just something about the Hog's Head that called out to those looking for a bit of nefarious privacy.
Author's/Artist's Notes: gala_apples, I adored your requests and wanted to use EVERYTHING, but that would have been a wild mish-mash of characters of varying timelines, lol, so I stuck with your first-mentioned unloved character (Viktor) and your first-mentioned "general likes" (Weasleys) with a whole lot of other general likes thrown in for good measure. :D
Thanks to bethbethbeth for bringing so much love to these poor souls (and to us!) and to my wonderful beta, leela_cat.
Maybe it was the echo of goats long past, but there was just something about the Hog's Head that called out to those looking for a bit of nefarious privacy. The dark corners were perfect for clandestine meetings, the ale just stale enough to keep those with an actual interest in alcohol away, and the butterbeer so dusty the kiddies would rather face the horrors of Madam Puddifoot's than trespass on the establishment with the creaking sign and cranky bartender.
All in all, it was damn near perfect. Exactly what Aberforth had set out to create: a tiny bit of perdition adjacent to the grounds of his brother's slice of heaven. A good nose-rub never hurt anyone.
His regular customers knew to pay promptly—no bartabs in his establishment—and their expenditures saw to the upkeep of the bar and what little extra cash Aberforth required to live his life. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
And for the occasional emergency that cropped up and required additional funds, there were the two rooms upstairs. Three, if you counted the one Aberforth used as his own, but no one else had set foot in it besides him since he'd taken over the place and no one would.
He swiped the bar with a dirty rag and ignored Ariana's stare which was boring into him from her portrait over the fireplace. The clonk of the bell above the door broke the silence of the still evening, and Aberforth looked up, his rag never wavering though his other hand immediately moved toward his wand.
Ginger hair. Faces and builds so much like their long-dead uncles that Aberforth felt something clench in his gut. The dragontooth earring on the one and the scars on t'other, though... That was new. Gid and Fabian's daring escapades had come in the form of wartime adventures. These young bucks... Aberforth shook his head and redirected his thoughts.
The shorter of the two, stockier, glanced at him almost in surprise—bartenders had a way of blending into the scenery of a bar—and held up two fingers. "Firewhisky."
Aberforth pulled a dark bottle down from a shelf behind the bar and set it on the counter heavily. Two thick-cut glasses in some state of cleanliness—the firewhisky'd kill whatever might be left lurking in the bottom of them after his days-old basic cleaning spell—were filled to the brim and pushed across the counter. "Two Galleons," he muttered, and pocketed the gold coins that spun toward him.
He had very little use for a till.
Giving every indication he was ignoring their presence entirely, Aberforth watched them take seats at a table in the corner, the one cast most deeply in shadow. Though there were six chairs around the table, they took the two furthest from him, their backs to the wall, shoulders pressing together.
Ariana gave a soft sigh, and Aberforth stilled her with a shake of his head. Walking over as if to dust her frame, he muttered, "None o' that."
"Ain't none o' our bus'ness."
The bell clonked again, and Aberforth stiffened before turning. He'd not seen or heard either of the boys move, so this must be yet another customer.
"Busy tonight," Ariana said in her soft, lilting voice.
Aberforth frowned at the young man who'd entered. He didn't look like he was down from Hogwarts, but there was a certain aura about him, even as he plodded into the bar on flat feet, scowling around the dimly-lit room. Ugly as sin, this one, but... still.
Strolling back behind the bar, Aberforth threw one end of his rag over his shoulder. "Reckon you should be out this late, lad?"
Heavy eyebrows drew together when the boy scowled, but all he said was, "Da. I shall haf vodka."
It seemed the ale'd be that much more stale tomorrow, the way these youngsters were ordering. Shaking his head, Aberforth poured and pushed, his actions done by rote though he was barman enough to say, "That'll be two Galleons."
Ugly-boy sneered down at the piss-water he'd ordered, lifted the glass to his nose, sniffed, and said, "For this? You vill get one Galleon and be thankful for the profit."
Well now. Aberforth rocked back on his heels and swept the little bugger with a gaze meant to be measuring. After a long moment, he nodded. "One'll do."
Young, but not dumb. Maybe they were doing something right up at the school. And, somewhere out there, a clabbert was falling out of a tree.