Theodore Nott did just as he had told the old barman he would do: he spent five days working diligently and steadily at whatever Aberforth requested.  Be it cleaning up the rooms upstairs, or washing the windows, or serving drinks to customers, or cooking some simple food, or anything, Theodore did it.  On the morning of the sixth day, Theodore announced to the barman that he was leaving.  Aberforth paid him the salary he had racked up over the days, Theodore walked out the door, and that was that.

Well, that was that for a while, anyway.

For though Theodore went on from the Hog’s Head to spend four days at Flourish and Blotts, then two days at the Leaky Cauldron, and then another six at Zonko’s Joke Shop (with two days of mere wandering), he somehow found himself walking back to the old man and his pub two weeks after he had taken leave of there.

He sat upon the same stool as he had fourteen days ago, his cloak drawn tight around him, his body still shivering from the October draft outside as he adjusted to the warmth of the indoors.  What was he doing back here?  He had made an agreement with Aberforth, he had said he would work for a few days and then flee.  And yet, he had returned.  Scurried back like some coward dog with his tail between his legs.  Well, not really.  He hadn’t asked to work at the bar again.  All he had asked for was a drink, which Aberforth was currently pouring for him.  And though the barman had said nothing to him so far other than “two Sickles”, Theodore could tell his thoughts were wandering to places other than the Firewhiskey he was about to serve his customer.

Aberforth passed him a glass, full nearly to the brim of the delicious liquid.  “Here you are.”

“Thanks,” said Theodore, promptly taking a swig, giving a slight shudder of pleasure as his sorrow and misery was washed away by the alcohol.

Aberforth gave a ‘hmph’ of acknowledgement, then sat down behind the bar counter, and began calculating sums and such for his business in a little book.  They passed the time in this way for quite a while: Theodore sipping and gazing around absently, occasionally asking the barman for a refill; Aberforth adding and subtracting and divvying and squaring and multiplying and who-even-knew-what into his book, in-between presenting his customers with food and drink.

Theodore had just polished off his third glass, contemplating whether he should order a fourth or save the money for tomorrow, in case he was not able to find work somewhere the next day �“ when Aberforth closed his accounting book and muttered, in no particular direction, “Fresh bedding and sheets is in the closet with the mop.”

Theodore only stared at the man in a mildly intoxicated fashion, unsure who Aberforth was speaking to, or if he was even speaking to anyone at all.  After several pregnant seconds, Aberforth looked up from the counter-top, meeting the younger man’s eyes.

“Well?” Aberforth grunted.  “You just going to sit there, or what, lad?”

“Were you �“ talking to me?” Theodore stuttered.

“I wasn’t talking to the table, was I?” Aberforth retaliated in a rough, dry manner.

“Fresh bedding and sheets . . .?” Theodore echoed dimly, confused.

“The guests in 5A, 7A, and 10B have all checked out,” Aberforth informed him, getting to his feet as a new customer came through the door.  “So the bed sheets need to be changed.”

“Ooo-kay,” said Theodore slowly, still not processing coherent thought, wondering desperately what the old man was going on about.  Maybe you should cut down on the whiskey, Nott, he thought sardonically to himself.

Aberforth stared at him, blinked, then continued to stare, as though he had never met a thicker person in his life.  “You going to change the bedding or not, kid?” he finally burst out, impatient.

Theodore tilted his head slightly.  “What?”

“Change �“ the �“ beddings,” said Aberforth in impossibly slow tones, as he poured wine for a new customer and handed them the glass.

“Sir �“ Aberforth �“ I don’t work here anymore.”

Aberforth’s expression remained unswayed, blank, flat.  “You came back, didn’t you?”

“Only for a drink.”

“Really?” said Aberforth skeptically.

“Yep.”

Aberforth studied him for a moment.  “You got a steady job yet?”

“I don’t really think it’s a stranger’s business to know that sort of thing about me,” Theodore returned, his back going straight and rigid, in a semblance of a proud gentleman who had just been seriously degraded.

“Strangers, eh?” said Aberforth, with a peculiar grin.  “And what exactly would be a stranger, kid?  Were the Death Eaters you grew up around, were they strangers to you?  What about the other kids at Hogwarts with you, were they?  Are these people who keep firing you because of who you’re related to, are they strangers to you?

“What is a stranger?” Aberforth went on, pausing for only a split second, in which Theodore tried and failed to reply to him.  “Is it someone who doesn’t know you, and doesn’t want to?  Is it someone who doesn’t know you, and wants to?  Or is it someone who doesn’t want to know you, and so only sees what they want to based on that fact?”

“Look, you’re making my heard hurt,” Theodore grumbled, and he did, indeed, suddenly have a pounding headache, though this may have been more from his own sorrows than from the prattling old man.

“Then let me ask you something simple,” said Aberforth, putting his elbows on the counter and leaning in towards Theodore.  The blue orbs penetrated deep into his own, astoundingly clear even behind dirty spectacles, spearing him to the spot.

“Do you believe in second chances, Theodore?” Aberforth asked quietly.

The intense blue was too much.  Theodore drew back a little, stumbling over his words: “I-I guess so.”

“What about first chances?”

“S-sure.”

“You don’t sound very sure of yourself.”

“The questions sort of came out of the blue.”

“Shouldn’t you know the answers already, though?”

“I’m not that quick on my feet.”

“But aren’t these the sorts of things you’ve wondered about before?  Pondered on other occasions?”

“Would I deeply offend you if I said no?”

“No, you wouldn’t.  The person you would probably offend more is yourself.”

The pounding pain in Theodore’s head had increased to a full-blown drum beat.  “How do you figure that one?”

“You said it yourself, kid, two weeks ago: people are constantly judging you, whether you do anything or not.  You can try to change their opinions though: sometimes it will work, and sometimes it won’t.  But you have to know your own position on the matter first.  If you aren’t willing to do to others as you want done to yourself, you’re barking up the wrong tree.

“A lot of people aren’t willing to give others second chances.  The person makes one mistake, one error, and that’s it, they’re branded as one way for the rest of their life.  But a lot of people �“ though they don’t realize it �“ not only don’t give second chances to others, but they don’t give them first chances either.  They don’t let the person do anything to make an impression: they judge them only on what they know beforehand, or what they think they know, at least.  Like you being judged on your last name.  So that’s why I’m asking.  That’s why I’m asking if you believe in second glances, second considerations, second chances.  Or if you even believe in the first round of those little concepts.”

The old male and the younger one stared at each other for a long moment; the former fervidly, the latter rather blankly, for once in his life thrown for an answer.  Then, finally, Aberforth drew back; and, as though nothing had just taken place, grabbed several empty glasses and began wiping them down with a dishtowel.

Theodore sat motionless, trying to mull over what the older man had just said.  He made his head hurt even worse by more thinking, however; and after much silence, he finally spoke up again: “I want seven Sickles each day this time.”

“Go get the beddings,” was Aberforth’s only reply, without looking up from the glass he was polishing.

 

***

 

Yet again, Theodore worked five solid days at the Hog’s Head, throwing all his energy into the tasks placed in front of him, trying not to think on the old man’s words.  But he did think back on them: he thought back on them often.  And though he did not know what to think of them, precisely, he did still think of them.

Second chances.  First chances.  Did he give them to others?  Others sure as hell didn’t give them to him.  But maybe he didn’t deserve them in the first place.  Did he?  But could he really expect them to give him chances if he himself did not know whether to give himself a chance?

He was confusing himself, just as the barman had confused him, and so he worked extra hard at his jobs in an effort to avoid his crushing thoughts, even though they continued to pursue him endlessly, like wolves on the prowl.

As the sixth morning of his stay at the Hog’s Head dawned, Theodore packed up his few belongings in his duffel and headed down the stairs.  Aberforth watched him approach with a guarded, narrowed gaze.

“Leaving?” the old man asked in his typical gruff tone.

“Yes,” said Theodore.

For a moment, Theodore thought Aberforth was going to object to this, start in lecturing again.  But the barman only jerked his head once, then unlocked his till and counted out some money, which he then handed over to Theodore.  “Your earnings,” he said shortly.

“Thank you,” said Theodore, curling his fingers over the coins, expecting them to fill him with the usual satisfaction and happiness.  For after all, his having money meant that he was now able to purchase his favorite thing in the world: alcohol.  Usually his pay-days stuffed him full of joy at the notion that more Firewhiskey was in his future; yet today, he found that the coins brought him none of this.

He stared at Aberforth, who had turned back to polishing his wine glasses.  Theodore expected the barman to say some parting words to him �“ or was he hoping the man would?  But whether Theodore expected or hoped for a good-bye, it did not matter, for Aberforth gave him no final words, merely continued on wiping the mugs, his eyes steady upon them.  And so, seeing no other real options, Theodore turned and exited the pub.

And so, a new pattern was established: Theodore Nott continued with his sporadic working, laboring a few days here and then another few there, picking up enough money to keep him going along the way.  Yet, it was slightly different.  It was slightly different, because now, he always had a place to return to. 

In a sense, at least.

The Hog’s Head was no home, that was for certain.

But now, every few days �“ or sometimes every few weeks �“ Theodore would return to the Hog’s Head to work.  He would stay there for yet another five days, and then move on.  He only went whenever he was having a particularly hard time finding a job, when he had been wandering the streets for several days unemployed.

It was strange, in a way, knowing there was always a place he could return to if things were rough.  But it was strange in a good way, in a nice way.  He hadn’t had such a feeling of security in a long while, not since the end of the war.

October whirled into November, November swished by to allow December’s entrance, and still Theodore’s life passed in the same routine of odd and irregular jobs, though every so often he returned to Aberforth and his pub for work.  Aberforth refrained from comment on the young man’s work life, and on anything related to glances and chances and whatever-the-hell-else-he’d-said before, only speaking to give Theodore his tasks and such.

It was a morning in mid-December when Theodore was making to depart yet again from the Hog’s Head.  He strolled down the stairs to meet Aberforth by the counter, as per usual, so as to collect his pay.

“I’m leaving today,” Theodore told the old man, though really, these words were quite unneeded.  He always left the morning of his sixth day, there was really no need to announce when he was going to go.  Aberforth knew when he would leave.  They both knew.

Instead of moving for the till, however, Aberforth raised his prickly eyebrows, casting his eyes out the windows.  “Kid, have you looked outside lately?  You can’t possibly think you’re leaving today.”

Theodore looked outside, looked back at the barman.  “What should a little snow have to do with my leaving here?”

“A little snow?” Aberforth chuckled, somewhat hostilely.  “That is not a little snow, that is a full-blown snow blizzard.”

“I can handle it,” said Theodore stiffly.  “Now if you would please pay me my money, I will be going �“ “

“You feeling suicidal, or something?  The snow is already three feet high on the ground, and it’s still coming down in torrents.  No one is outside, and lad, you should take a hint from that.”

Theodore stared hard at Aberforth, who stared right back, some peculiar and silent battle of wills taking place, though over what Theodore was not exactly sure.  At last, Theodore lowered his eyes, and through gritted teeth, ground out, “I suppose . . . I should stay a little longer, then.”

“I suppose,” Aberforth echoed dryly, in agreement.  “And while you wait, you can change the beddings in room 2B to pass the time, eh?”

“Sure,” Theodore muttered, and, jaw still clenched, marched back up the stairs to do just that.

Theodore did stay ‘a little longer’, just as he said.  Actually, as it happened, he stayed slightly longer than ‘a little longer’.  For even after the snow storm had stopped, and the snow on the ground was started to melt away and turn to slush, as he peered out the window, he found he did not want to leave his current place.  And so, he stayed.

He didn’t tell Aberforth of his decision not to leave.  But he didn’t have to.  There are some things that just don’t have to be said.