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October 6, 1973. A crisp, brilliantly sunny Saturday in the magical village of Hogsmeade.
Three Gryffindor lion cubs, heavily laden with armfuls of bulging paper bags and prank-shop purchases, walked intimately together down the cobbled high street.
"Regulus is only in his second year, and legally speaking, you need a signed permission slip and third-year status to visit the village," James noted, his arms full of Dungbombs. He looked over at Sirius. "How exactly did he manage to sneak into Hogsmeade today? Did you tell him about the secret passage hidden behind the one-eyed witch statue?"
"I absolutely never mentioned it to him," Sirius shook his head, looking mildly impressed. "Hogwarts doesn't just exclusively belong to explorers like us, James. Regulus clearly has his own highly effective, sneaky channels."
Talking animatedly, Sirius, Remus, and James passed the bustling Hogsmeade Post Office on the main street—having to occasionally duck as heavy delivery owls flew erratically out of the high windows—and then they turned sharply off the sunny cobblestones, heading down a dark, muddy, increasingly sketchy side path.
As they approached their destination, Sirius frowned in deep pureblood confusion, critically examining the dilapidated, rotting wooden sign hanging by rusty, squeaking iron brackets above a highly questionable-looking wooden door.
"Hey, wait a minute... is that literally a violently chopped-off boar's head bleeding onto a cloth painted on the sign?" James said blithely, squinting up at the gruesome artwork. "Well. I suppose no wonder the place is called the Hog's Head Inn."
"Are you absolutely certain this is exactly where Regulus wanted to meet?" Remus looked highly hesitantly at Sirius, wincing as the rusty sign creaked ominously in the autumn wind.
By absolutely all objective, aesthetic appearances, this filthy dive bar absolutely did not match the pristine, aristocratic temperament of any member of the Noble House of Black.
"Maybe he explicitly chose it for undercover cover," Sirius said, shaking his head. He reached out with a gloved hand and pushed open the inn's heavy, incredibly dirty wooden door.
The interior atmosphere was completely, flawlessly consistent with the horrifying exterior appearance of the shop. From the sagging, water-stained ceiling to the sticky, sawdust-covered floor; from the splintering wooden furniture to the profoundly cloudy drinking glasses... absolutely everything in the room was dim, incredibly dirty, rough, and violently cheap.
The entire room deeply reeked of the pungent, suffocating black smoke pouring off low-quality, sputtering tallow candles. And yet, incredibly, this heavy smoke completely failed to cover up another, highly distinct, overpowering odor of wet goats that permanently permeated the room.
Sirius aggressively wrinkled his aristocratic nose, but out of pureblood politeness and Gryffindor stubbornness, he didn't show any actual disgust on his face.
This bar is indeed—exactly as Regulus had cryptically promised in his letter—"highly unusual, and you will definitely find the atmosphere incredibly different from the Three Broomsticks," Sirius thought dryly.
The fact that Regulus could actually find a diplomatic way to actively praise this literal biohazard of a room... Sirius shook his head slightly in amusement and turned his sharp grey gaze toward the wooden bar.
The gruff owner standing behind the bar was also silently, intensely watching them.
In fact, the absolute second the three bright-eyed Gryffindors entered, they immediately, aggressively attracted the deeply suspicious, hostile attention of almost every single shady wizard currently sitting in the gloomy room.
It felt exactly as if three pristine, tender little lambs had just happily wandered into a darkened, heavily armed wolf's den.
Keeping a low profile? That concept fundamentally, physically did not exist around Sirius Black. His devastatingly handsome, aristocratic face literally looked as though it were perpetually bathed in a layer of holy, cinematic light; absolutely wherever he went, he instantly, effortlessly became the unavoidable focal point of the crowd.
The bar owner staring at them was an incredibly tall, thin old man who looked perpetually, aggressively ill-tempered. He had a massive, wild mane of hair and a long, tangled beard that hadn't completely turned grey yet, heavily mixed with a dirty, golden-auburn color that appeared slightly hazy and ethereal in the dim candlelight.
Looking at the grumpy old man, Sirius suddenly, vaguely felt a strange ping of familiarity. Have I met him somewhere before? Behind the bar, Aberforth Dumbledore stared intently at the boys. What an incredibly handsome, arrogant-looking child. Is that the runaway heir from the fanatic House of Black? Why on earth is a rich pureblood brat slumming it in here? Aberforth stared for a long, calculating moment, grunted softly to himself, and then aggressively withdrew his gaze, aggressively polishing a dirty glass with a filthy rag.
"I'll have, uh... three... no, make it four bottles of Butterbeer, please," Remus said politely, bravely walking up to the sticky wooden bar. After a brief moment's hesitation, he explicitly followed Regulus's highly paranoid written instructions to the letter. "And, um. We'll be pouring them ourselves. I'll use our own cups."
The grumpy bar owner stopped wiping. He stared hard at Remus. For a terrifying, tense moment, it genuinely seemed like the massive old man might violently lose his temper at the perceived insult to his hygiene. Sirius suddenly noticed that beneath the wild, tangled beard and long, dirty hair, the bartender possessed a pair of incredibly sharp, piercingly bright blue eyes.
Aberforth grunted again, bent down behind the counter, and heavily slammed four very dusty, highly suspicious-looking brown beer bottles onto the wood in a line.
"That'll be eight silver Sickles," Aberforth growled, his voice like grinding stones.
"I'll pay for it!" James quickly said, eager to defuse the tension. He slammed a handful of silver coins onto the sticky wood.
The three little wizards, feeling exactly like they had accidentally "strayed" into a highly dangerous Knockturn Alley mafia den, obediently found a relatively isolated, wobbly wooden table by the far stone wall and sat down. Lupin quickly reached into his bag and took out four completely clean, sanitized crystal glasses. Sirius drew his carved oak wand, casually preparing to cast a quick, non-verbal "Scouring Charm" directly on the filthy rims of the bottles before opening them.
"AHEM!"
The old owner coughed incredibly heavily and aggressively to get their attention. The sound was so loud that almost everyone in the shady bar turned to look at him.
"Listen here, lads," Aberforth barked, glaring directly at Sirius's wand. "Absolutely zero active magic is legally allowed to be cast inside the Hog's Head Inn!"
He aggressively wiped another cloudy glass cup with his filthy handkerchief (which honestly looked vastly more like a moldy floor rag to Sirius's horrified eyes), making his strict point completely, undeniably clear.
Ah, Sirius thought dryly, lowering his wand. If cleaning magic genuinely isn't allowed to be cast in here... well, that would certainly physically explain why everything in this room is so incredibly, disgustingly dirty.
"Understood. Sorry about that," Sirius smiled charmingly and complied readily, slipping his wand back into his sleeve.
Aberforth Dumbledore showed absolutely no outward reaction to the apology, but inwardly, the grumpy old man actually felt a microscopic bit more favorable towards the polite Black heir. Aberforth aggressively kept his ear to the ground; he knew a fair bit about the political shifting currently happening up at Hogwarts, and he was highly aware that his paranoid brother, Albus, was heavily, deeply wary of this specific young man.
He also easily recognized the scarred face of Remus Lupin sitting beside him. After all, the highly lucrative, terrifying local rumors about the "Shrieking Shack" being violently haunted by spirits were historically, intentionally spread directly from the Hog's Head Inn with Aberforth's full, silent cooperation to protect the werewolf boy.
Sirius used his bare hands to forcefully unscrew the rusty metal bottle caps. Along with his companions, he carefully poured the amber drinks into their clean crystal cups. As he took a cautious sip, his grey eyes sharply, constantly scanned the dark, smoky corners of the room.
"Mate, why is literally everyone in here aggressively covering their faces with heavy cloaks and thick hoods?" James muttered softly, leaning across the sticky table. "Should we have brought hoods to cover our faces too?"
"A bit too late for stealth now, James," Sirius leaned back in his creaky chair, wearing his signature, highly arrogant, perfectly calm expression.
"Sirius... I feel like that specific person over there is intensely watching us," Remus whispered nervously, subtly pointing under the table toward the darkest corner of the pub. James immediately, aggressively whipped his head around to look, completely ruining the subtlety. Sirius, however, acted exactly as if nothing had happened, only allowing his eyes to glance inadvertently over at the corner after a full minute had passed.
Sitting alone in the deepest shadows of the corner was a tall, incredibly upright figure wearing a highly suspicious half-mask and a heavy, perfectly clean black hood. The only physical part of the stranger visible in the gloom was a pair of sharp, piercing grey eyes... eyes which looked incredibly, genetically familiar. Sirius narrowed his own eyes, leaning slightly forward, just about to look closer—
CREAK.
The heavy, dilapidated bar door violently swung open. The warm, bright autumn sunlight briefly, beautifully illuminated the thick, swirling dust motes inside the gloomy room before the light was entirely, completely blocked out by an impossibly huge silhouette stepping into the frame.
It was the Hogwarts gamekeeper, Rubeus Hagrid, wearing his massive, moleskin overcoat and a huge, beaming smile hidden in his beard.
And stepping out from directly behind his massive, protective body was a much smaller little wizard. The boy was highly theatrically covering the lower half of his face with a black silk handkerchief, but above the silk, a faint, highly amused smile danced in his aristocratic grey eyes—eyes that were the exact, identical color as Sirius's.
Behind the bar, Aberforth Dumbledore watched the two aristocratic Black brothers instantly recognize each other and hug tightly. The grumpy old man let out a long, heavy, unseen sigh in his heart. Great. More castle politics bleeding into my pub.
After ordering massive tankards of mead for Hagrid, five incredibly, completely conspicuous "big" and "small" wizards sat awkwardly crammed together around the wobbly wooden table.
There was simply no helping the lack of stealth. Sirius was far, far too naturally good-looking to ever blend into a slum. Hagrid was literally as eye-catchingly massive as a small, furry mountain. And Regulus? He was currently actively, heavily leaning into the drama, wearing a black silk mask in a highly theatrical, super-villain manner, making himself look incredibly suspicious no matter how you looked at him.
Low-key? Did Regulus genuinely never think about simply being low-key? Why on earth would I want to be low-key? Regulus thought happily.
Wearing the silk mask simply meant one highly practical thing: he technically didn't want to be openly, legally identified breaking the school rules regarding Hogsmeade visits. Plausible deniability was key.
Besides, they were already sitting directly on Aberforth Dumbledore's home turf, and they even had Albus Dumbledore's most fiercely loyal, direct subordinate—Hagrid—sitting right there at the table with them acting as a physical shield. They were as safe as they could possibly be.
( ＼(￣▽￣)／ )
"Hey, Regulus," Sirius leaned in, unable to hold back his curiosity any longer. "What on earth made you think of secretly meeting in this absolute dump?"
Does that really even need to be explicitly said? Regulus thought, his eyes gleaming with modern fanboy excitement above his silk mask.
Coming to the Hog's Head Inn, of course, was strictly, entirely for the ultimate, VIP Harry Potter themed tourism experience!
This filthy, goat-scented pub was absolute hallowed, canonical ground! This was the exact spot where a young Severus Snape would eventually eavesdrop on Sybill Trelawney's world-shattering prophecy! This was the legendary room where Harry Potter would famously host the very first, highly illegal recruitment meeting for Dumbledore's Army! And this was the exact, vital location containing the secret tunnel that Harry would eventually use to sneak back into the Hogwarts Room of Requirement during the final, bloody Battle of Hogwarts!
As a hardcore, transmigrated gamer tourist, how could he possibly not come here to aggressively check it out and soak in the lore?
Besides, who wouldn't want to finally see Albus Dumbledore's highly secretive, grumpy younger brother with their own two eyes?
"Well, historically speaking, this pub used to be the highly secret, heavily armed headquarters of the bloody 1612 Goblin Rebellion," Regulus smiled smoothly, reciting Hogwarts: A History. "I heard this particular bar has many deeply hidden, highly magical places. I was simply... intellectually curious."
He leaned in, lowering his voice into a highly dramatic, conspiratorial whisper. "Furthermore, deep, dark rumor has it... that the Hog's Head Inn actually possesses a very mysterious, highly illegal physical connection directly into the heart of Hogwarts Castle."
He deliberately, heavily emphasized the word 'Hog's'.
Behind the bar, Aberforth Dumbledore, who was absolutely full of paranoid curiosity and had his sharp ears firmly perked up, paying incredibly close, intense attention to the boys' every single move, froze. He aggressively wiped a glass, thinking furiously to himself: Who in the bloody hell is spreading that highly classified secret around the Slytherin dungeons?!
"Anyway, today, I've formally arranged to finally meet our 'teacher' here in neutral territory," Regulus lifted the bottom edge of his silk mask just enough to take a polite sip of his Butterbeer. He looked around the smoky room. "He honestly should be here by now, shouldn't he?"
Sirius's eyes widened as he suddenly, completely understood the setup! He immediately whipped his head back around to stare at the tall, cloaked figure sitting silently in the darkest corner he had noticed earlier.
The tall person under the heavy, perfectly clean black hood stood up gracefully and strode confidently over to their wobbly table.
"Uncle Al!" Sirius mouthed completely silently, his handsome face instantly filling with sheer, unadulterated happiness and deep excitement.
"You boys really should be significantly more cautious and subtle when actively choosing illegal meeting places," Alphard Black sighed. He reached up and elegantly pulled back his heavy black hood, revealing his roguish, devastatingly handsome face to the table. He offered a charming, highly aristocratic smile to the stunned Gryffindors. "Allow me to formally introduce myself to the rest of you. I am Alphard Black."