A/N: I do not own Harry Potter and would not particularly care to. I would like a rental agreement with option to buy for Hermione Granger. A short-term contract with Nymphadora Tonks would never be refused. A Long-term agreement with Luna Lovegood would probably be a whole lot of fun. Any time Padma Patil wants to open negotiations, call me and oh for a weekend with Fleur. Oddly Lavender and Padma's sister (despite being her twin) Parvati do nothing for me…
Saturday Night in the Hogs Head
It was the twentieth anniversary of the fall of Voldemort, and the celebrations were in full swing. The legendary Hogs Head pub was no exception; the party there had been running for more than three days, when the conversation at the bar turned, as those things are wont to do, to the mistakes made during the conflict that prolonged the war.
It should be noted that as per usual, those with the strongest opinions on what mistakes were made, were uniformly nowhere near the fight at the time. Veterans of any of the wars of mankind have noted this phenomenon throughout history.
"Sure, Potter succeeded, but look at how he went about it," the first of the loudmouths pronounced. "Everything he managed to do was either blind luck, Granger holding his hand, or Vol… Vol… Vol.. You Know Who's habit of holding onto the idiot ball and refusing to let go."
"Granger," the drunk who was the group's designated 'Funny Guy' slurred, "was holding more than just Potter's hand. Everyone knows that the real reason Weasley left them alone in the Forest of Dean was out of embarrassment for the way they were carrying on. Muggleborn, right lads?"
"Too right," agreed a third member of the group, one who had run out of cash several hours earlier and who was depending on the rest of the group buying rounds to continue with the party, hence his automatic agreement with whoever was talking. "I remember this one Muggleborn back at old Hoggy, a Slytherin she was, and Merlin, the things she would do…"
"Potter was lucky," the group's expert on everything interjected, trying to make sure the conversation didn't veer into a subject that he didn't know enough about to bluff his way through. "That's a given, but he did the best he could when you consider the situation he was in. In this story, Voldemort was the villain, and Potter was the hero, but the one true evil bastard of the story was Albus Dumbledore."
None of the group of experts on the waging of war noticed the barkeep and the customer at the bar turn to look at them.
"Aye," the sycophant said, "he didn't tell Potter anything that might have helped."
"I think," the loudest of the group pronounced as if what he thought was of any consequence, "that Dumbledore wanted You Know Who to win. Everyone knows the Dumbledores were blood purists. Look at the father."
"I don't know if I'd go that far," the expert suggested. "But Dumbledore certainly didn't help."
"None of you know anything about Albus Dumbledore," the man at the bar said.
Silence filled that corner of the pub as the knowledge that their expertise on the subject was being challenged filtered through their alcohol augmented consciousnesses.
"And you do I suppose?" The Expert asked.
The man at the bar lifted his drink in a toast to his memories and nodded. "As much as anyone knew Albus Dumbledore, yes. Albus Dumbledore was a mighty man, the kind of man you'd never disrespect. He stood 8 foot tall, wore half-moon glasses…"
"And he had a third nipple on the base of his neck," the barkeep supplied.
"He ate his own weight in coal," the man at the bar continued with a glare at the barkeep, "and excreted diamonds every day."
"He could leave an infant to a life of abuse," the barkeep nodded, "but the boy would love him anyway."
"Yeah," the customer agreed with a wry grin and a laugh. "The idiot kid would love him anyway.
"Albus Dumbledore won the Tour de France, with two flat tires and a missing chain," the barkeep recalled.
"And he trained a rattlesnake to do his laundry," the customer laughed. "I'm telling you, the man was insane. He could rip out your beating heart, and show it to you before you died.
"Every day he'd make Hogwarts' potions master give him a piggyback ride," the barkeep added.
"Yeah," the customer laughed, "a two-hour piggyback ride." He pantomimed slapping a horse on its rump, "Giddyup, Severus! Albus Dumbledore was a ninja warrior, a master of disguise,"
"He could melt your brain with his Legilimency eyes, oh yeah," the barkeep remembered.
"He had his very own entrance at the Ministry," the other recalled.
"He made sweet, sweet love to a manatee," replied the barkeep. "Oh yeah, that was somethin' to see, I tell ya"
The customer laughed again, before continuing. "Albus Dumbledore sold his toenail clippings as a potent aphrodisiac, he ran a four minute mile blindfolded with a siege engine strapped to his back."
"He could eat more frozen waffles than any other man I know," the barkeep admitted.
"Once he fell off the Astronomy tower," the customer recalled. "And he barely even stubbed his toe, just a tiny little scratch on his toe. Didn't even hurt! Did you know Albus Dumbledore figured out cold fusion, the old bastard never ever told a soul?"
"I saw the man unhinge his jaw," the barkeep said, "and swallow a hippogryff whole."
"He'd bash your face in with a shovel," the customer said, draining his glass. "If you treated him like a bore, 'cause you can spit in the wind or tug on Superman's cape, but Merlin knows, you just don't mess around with Dumbledore."
The group of drunken gossips stared at the pair at the bar for several seconds before gathering their things to make an exit.
"You know Harry," the barkeep said as he poured another drink for his regular customer, "I was surprised to hear you standing up for my brother."
"I got over being Albus' man a long time ago, but I couldn't just listen to those idiots going on. Albus may have been a bastard, but he was our bastard. Besides, they were talking about the whole Dumbledore family, and you, my friend are the best bartender in the world," He downed the fresh drink before continuing; "I was surprised with the nipple on his neck thing."
"Yeah, that's why he always had his hair so long," Abe admitted. "The Tour de France thing is true as well, though I thought his love for frozen waffles would have been the big surprise."
"Nah, that was an open secret at Hogwarts. Dobby was the elf responsible for fixing them every day, and there was nothing that elf liked more than sharing a bit of gossip. The manatee thing is a little disturbing… A myth, I take it, like your goat rumors?"
"Cast iron fact," Abe said as he spat into a glass to loosen a stubborn bit of something before polishing the glass clean with a filthy rag. "That's my story, and I'm sticking to it. Did I ever tell you that Albus was responsible for starting those goat rumors?"
Shaking his head, the customer stood up from the bar, tossing a handful of coins next to his empty glass. "The idiots have been shut up, at least for now, I'll be heading home. Good night Abe."
A/N: Proof positive that I shouldn't put a Weird Al cd in the player while I'm trying to write. The inspiration for this mess is the immortal 'CNR'.